The Laws of Inheritance
by hushedhands
Summary: Queen America has a very specific request for King Maxon regarding any potential daughters they might be having, and the Laws of Inheritance.
1. Chapter 1

She'd been half expecting to trip and fall down these stairs for years now. They were steep, narrow, rickety and poorly lit, and the only time they were used was in panicked, emergency situations. Still, it was embarrassing when it finally happened. She'd been halfway between entrances to the safe rooms when the rebel alarms started blaring, and Avery, the guard nearest her, ran forward, brandishing his weapon, and escorted her at a full out run to the next opening. But America had been in heels, of course she had been, and she'd fallen behind during the run. She needed to seek out physical training, she lamented, because she'd been shorter and shorter of breath since moving into Maxon's gilded cage three years previously. She was out of shape.

So Avery, brave and dutiful, reached back and took her by the arm, pulling her with him the rest of the way to the safe room entrance. There were loud, crashing sounds coming from the hallway, and America thanked any deity listening for men like him. Men who ran, with weapons brandished, towards the rebels, to defend the Kingdom. The door to the safe room swung open, Avery shoved America inside, and slammed the door closed behind her. She was safe, and Avery was running towards the now clearly audible gunfire.

Avery had been perhaps a little enthusiastic in his saving of America's life. With that push into the safe room, she toppled down the steep, narrow, rickety, poorly lit stairs and landed, hard, on her shoulder, right at Maxon's feet.

"America!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." she said, through gritted teeth. Her shoulder burned, but it would fade quickly. She needed a minute, maybe thirty seconds, and the pain would start to subside.

He knelt down and gave her a hand up. "Did you trip?"

"I was pushed." she shouldn't have said it, she immediately regretted it. The pain had been distracting her, or she would have thought better of this attempt to salvage her pride. Everyone knew she was clumsy, anyway. It wasn't as though pretending to have tripped would have damaged the Queen's reputation any further.

"Who pushed you?" Maxon asked, gravely.

"It was an accident." America insisted, straightening out her dress. Her shoulder still burned. If there had been anyone else in the room, she'd have busied herself with them. But she and Maxon were all that was left of the royal family, and they were the only ones left to occupy the royal safe room. It was one of the very few times when she missed the Selection enough to wish that some of the other girls were with them. Even if it meant her husband had to go pretend to flirt with a few of them for a while, it would be better than the anger in his eyes right now.

"Who pushed you, America?"

"A man who also happened to be saving my life." she said, stoutly.

"A guard?"

"It was bad timing, Maxon." America said, going over to the nearest cot and sitting down. "I was in between two safe rooms without easy access to either. That's why it took me so long to get down here. A guard, I won't tell you which, ran me to safety, got me through the door, and proceeded to rush into battle to defend your life and mine."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "If I promise not to be angry—"

"You're already angry."

"They are not supposed to push you, America, and they know it."

"He got overly excited in his zest for protecting me from gunfire. Give that man a medal."

"Maybe I would if you'd tell me who it was."

She sized him up. "I won't."

"_America_." he said, exasperated.

"In a couple of days, I promise." she said. "Not while your adrenaline is still pumping, my love." she'd added the last endearment as a reminder. They weren't supposed to have fights down here. The safe room was for cherishing each other only.

Maxon sank down next to her and nodded. "Fine. Let me look at it?"

"At—"

"The shoulder you fell on."

"How did you know?" She'd done her best not to gesticulate to it, she didn't like adding more worries to his already heavy load. Not for something silly like a jammed shoulder.

He was gathering her fiery red hair in his hand and letting it fall over her far shoulder. "I pay attention." he replied, gently tugging the shoulder of her bottle green day dress down to expose the flesh beneath. It was bright red and already forming a bruise. He pressed his lips lightly to the wound. "Ice." he said.

"As soon as the attack is over." America nodded.

"Would you consent to an aspirin?" he knew her reluctance to medicate. Most of the time, she told him he was overreacting when he tried to force medicine down her throat. It was a result of their different upbringings. America, as a five, never had access to medical care or medicines. Maxon, as the prince and sole heir to the throne of Illéa, was, in all likelihood, overdosed all of his life out of an abundance of caution.

"Would it set your mind at ease?" America asked, leaning her nose in to touch his.

"Yes."

"Then I shall." she said, smiling a little.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to hers, punctuating his next sentence with kisses. "Did you seriously—" kiss, "just use the word—" kiss, "'Shall'?" kiss.

America laughed at the memory. "You're a terrible influence on me, Maxon Schreave."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, peeking down her her still exposed skin.

"It's much better now." It throbbed a little, but the burn of first impact was gone. They listened, but it was impossible to hear much through the mostly soundproofed rooms. "Is it bad?" America asked.

"I couldn't tell."

"Violent, though." America said, grimly. "I heard gunshots."

Maxon sighed, tiredly. "Damned southerners." There were no other kinds of rebels anymore. The northerners who still wished to be unified and militaristic were now called 'the Militia' and they enforced the King's peace in unstable regions who weren't responding as well to the slow but steady changes in the caste structure.

America nodded, heart aching for her husband, and placed a hand on the back of his neck. "Get comfortable, Maxon. It's going to be a long night, once we're out of here."

Maxon frowned, loosening his tie. "I was looking forward to dinner with you tonight, my dear."

"Don't start." America said, rolling her eyes and kicking off her heels.

"What?" he asked, boyishly. False innocence all over his face.

"Do you know who you called 'my dear' last week? The Chancellor of the German Federation. The only people less likely to be 'your dear' in this whole world might be the rebels. Might be. I still half expect that, when you finally come face to face with one, you'll reach out your hand to shake and make peace and exclaim, 'Good to see you, _my dear_'." Maxon chortled at this, his honey brown eyes glittering. "You will call _anyone_ 'your dear'. You _don__'__t_ call me 'your dear'." America ordered.

"My dearest love." Maxon offered.

America shook her head at him. "You might be trying too hard." she leant forward and kissed him, then leant back on the cot, laying flat, looking up at the ceiling. She moved her bare feet into Maxon's lap. His hands went to work, rubbing her soles deeply. She sighed, heavily, "You're working your way back into my good graces right now."

"This is all it takes?" he asked, amused. "I'm going to start misbehaving much more frequently."

She smiled a little and closed her eyes. She was horrified by the attacks, beyond anxious for the guards fighting upstairs right now and for their families, should any of them perish, but she couldn't stop herself. This was the most time she and Maxon had had together all week. She was glad to have it.

His hands froze suddenly, and he took a sharp breath in. "You're bleeding." he said, unhappily.

"What?" America asked, leaning up. How could she be? She wasn't hurt, except her shoulder, and that hadn't broken skin.

"The top knuckles of your toes are scraped raw, Ames." he said, leaning closely over them to examine them. In the dim light of the safe room, it was hard to see details.

"Oh." America breathed a sigh of relief. She laid back down and closed her eyes again. "That's from my shoes."

"These shoes?" Maxon asked, revolted.

"All of my shoes. That's just what they do, honey. It doesn't hurt." she assured him.

"You've rubbed your skin raw in those shoes, how can you say that it doesn't hurt? Did Sylvia make you wear these? Or was it Mary?"

America smirked and shook her head, "There you go again, asking me to name names."

"America—" he protested, but she cut him off.

"You think I would betray the women in my employ? Leave them helpless in the face of their King's wrath? They're my shoes, I put them on every morning, I am perfectly capable of wearing other shoes, but I don't. I like the shoes I have."

"You won't wear them anymore, America." he said, firmly.

"You know, though I am happy to defer to your wisdom in certain matters of state, I do not defer to your fashion sense, Maxon."

"You could have others made, custom for your feet. Just as fashionable, but without the blood."

America sighed, but not unhappily. "And you could be a little less protective of me."

He did not reply. He was chewing it over, and she liked that about him. He was listening to her concern, processing it, and attempting to address it. When he spoke, it was not in the voice he'd adopted as King. It wasn't authoritative or firm. It was his young prince voice. He was terribly uncertain and just a little bit frightened. "You're all I have left, America." he said, finally.

She immediately swung her feet over the side of the cot and wrapped her arms firmly around him from the side. "And I'm not going anywhere." she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're stuck with me."

He smiled a little at this and then, some color returning to his cheeks, leant back against his elbows and said, with an air of false casualness, "You know, if you'd give me heirs, maybe I'd be less protective of you. I'd have other family members to concern myself with."

She chuckled at his cheekiness. "Maybe if you ever made it to bed before two o'clock in the morning, we could make an heir."

"Really?" he asked, looking over at her, eyes shining.

America took a deep breath, "It would certainly improve the odds."

"Well… we're together now." he said, impishly wagging his eyebrows.

America laughed and shook her head, "Maxon Schreave, we are not conceiving the next heir to the throne of Illéa in a safe room during a rebel attack. It's an entirely inappropriate setting."

"Damn it." Maxon sighed. "You're right. That's not how we want to start things off with him."

"Him?" America asked.

"Or her, as our first child may be. But the heir to the throne would be a 'him'."

"Oh, would it?" America asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Of course. You know that." Maxon said, confused.

"Enamored with the patriarchy, are you?" America asked, amused but not pleased.

"What… what does that mean?" It was times like this, Maxon's upbringing showed. His lack of experience with women still occasionally left him with a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look in his eyes. It usually made America want to melt into a puddle, as if she was staring into the eyes of a much younger, more vulnerable Maxon. But this time, she needed to teach him.

"What would be so wrong with a female hereditary monarch, Maxon?"

"You mean… our daughter? To be Queen?"

"Yes."

"Well… it's just… it's not the done thing." he said, simply, with a weak attempt in his tone to end the avenue of conversation.

"Why not?" she challenged, but with sweetness in her voice.

"Because… we just… we pass the throne down through the male line."

"Why couldn't you pass it to a daughter?"

"Because she wouldn't be a male." he said, sensing the danger he was in and looking faintly ready to bolt.

America nodded, sympathetically. "So you believe men inherently more capable of ruling a country than women."

"Of course not!"

"A Queen is an accessory to a King, not a ruler in her own right."

"I never said that!"

"Then why wouldn't you allow our daughter to be reigning monarch after you?" America demanded.

"We don't have a daughter!" he reminded her.

"We could." America said, simply. "And I need to know that she wouldn't lose the rights afforded her by birth because of her gender."

"What do you want me to do, America?" he sounded so weary.

America sighed and kissed his temple. "I want you to amend the laws of inheritance so that our first born child, boy or girl, may inherit the throne. And once I know that we've done everything to ensure equality between our male children and our female children, I think I could be convinced to start producing them."

Maxon was not happy. "You're asking me to change a law as old as Illéa."

"The castes were as old as Illéa, too, Maxon. There's a lot we're changing. We're for equality between castes. And I want us to be for equality between genders, too."

"How long have you been cooking up this scheme?"

"Honestly? Since before the Selection."

"What?"

"I've always thought it ridiculous that princesses were used as political pawns, married off to foreign princes, and only princes could inherit a reigning title. And you know it's glaring, because I noticed it. I didn't give the monarchy more than two glances before the Selection, but during one of those glances, I noticed this."

Maxon had that furrow between his brows. "I'll think on it."

"You can't imagine handing over your crown to a woman?"

"It'd be your crown, my—"

"Maxon." America warned.

"Love. I was going to say love, I swear." he smiled a little again and that brow relaxed.

"You think she wouldn't be strong enough to shoulder the burden?" America asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

That smile faded. "I can't imagine burdening any of our children with this responsibility, but least of all our little girls."

"We'll help them, Maxon. Both of us." she said, leaning in and kissing his lips, softly. "It won't be like your parents. I'm not the type to sit in the Women's room and do needle point all day, and you know it. You knew that going into this marriage, didn't you?" she reminded him.

"Yes, I did."

"Yes, you did." She agreed. "We'll teach them, we'll guide them. They'll come to us for support, for help. We're stronger together."

"Yes, we are." he agreed.

"They'll learn from that." she promised.

He considered her closely, then kissed her lips. "I want my heir, America." he said, with false petulance.

"Well then, you know what to do, your Majesty." America teased.

"You've been holding off all this time, for _this_?" he asked.

"I haven't been holding off." she shook her head, raising her eyebrows, surprised. "We just haven't… haven't really _tried_ for a baby. And we weren't ready." It had taken them years to recover from the sudden loss of King Clarkson and Queen Amberly. The thought of bringing an infant into the world under those messy and tumultuous circumstances was horrifying. But now, despite the still present rebel attacks, King Maxon and Queen America were ruling well together. Two halves of a very important coin. And they were older now, they'd had some time together with just the two of them. America felt ready, and she knew Maxon wanted nothing more than to cradle an infant or twelve in his arms. He wanted a big family, and he wanted it yesterday.

"I'm ready now." he said.

She nodded at him, then started unbuttoning his stiff collar and sleeves. "Give it some thought, sweetheart. I'm serious. I won't raise my daughter as a second class royal. I won't ship her off to marry one of your allies. I won't do it. My children will be equal, each one of them, and the only thing to tell them apart will be their birth order."

Maxon groaned and flopped down on the cot. America smiled at him and snuggled up to his chest, resting her head just under his. He kissed her hair and then said, "You're insufferable, do you know that?"

"I do." she smiled. "I don't know how you put up with me. I feel sorry for you, Maxon."

"All I want is my heir, and off she goes on equality between genders." Maxon pretended to complain. Maybe it wasn't entirely pretend.

"You had 34 other women to select from. You made your choice. Now live with it." America joked.

He laughed and kissed her. "With pleasure." he said, before kissing her again.


	2. Chapter 2

America had spent her entire day in a serious education meeting with Kriss Ambers, and though it was a topic they were both passionate about, America was feeling the wear and tear by the afternoon.

"Maxon probably thinks we've been swallowed up by our budget statistics." Kriss giggled at the stack of brown folders they were in the process of wading through. "We abandoned him for breakfast and for lunch."

"His Majesty King Maxon could use the time alone for sober reflection." Her words were serious, but her tone was full of gossip.

"Oh, not again." Kriss rolled her eyes. "_Another_ lover's quarrel? Do you two spend all of your time at war with each other?"

"No." America's eyes glittered, "Maxon is terrible at wars. It never takes me too long to unceremoniously defeat him."

When Kriss had left the palace three years before, she'd been heartbroken. She'd loved Maxon firmly, steadily, unwaveringly, uncompromisingly, and it hadn't been enough. But Kriss had taken her time healing, allowing the dreams she'd had of her future with Maxon to fade. Broken dreams don't hurt as bad once they've faded so that you can hardly remember what they looked like in the first place. And, when she was ready, she had her own kind of Selection.

Suitors lined up around the block for the chance to date Kriss Ambers. Some only wanted her for her fame. Some were in a kind of puppy love with the image of her that had been broadcast into their homes during the Selection. The letters Maxon received from Kriss during that time, which he read in their entirety to America to avoid any of the romantic misunderstandings that had plagued Maxon and America during the Selection, were incredibly friendly and commiserative. Kriss wanted Maxon's advice, as a friend who knew what she was going through. America was unbelievably proud of them both for walking away from their love with a solid friendship. It wasn't an easy thing to do. She had her friendship with Aspen to remind her of that.

And now, Kriss was fairly certain she'd found her storybook ending after all. She was deeply in love with a young teacher at a prestigious private school known for educating the best and brightest twos, and the occasional three. They shared, among other things, a passion for education, a love of classical music, a taste for chocolate cake, and an affinity for a certain redheaded Queen they'd both grown to admire.

The gossip magazines had been questioning how long Kriss would wait until marrying the man. Surely he'd have her anytime she consented? Every once in a while they'd publish a ludicrous story about Kriss still being madly, disconsolately in love with King Maxon, and cite that as the reason that she still wasn't married. But America knew better. Kriss was having fun just being Kriss. She was happy with herself and her relationship exactly as it was, and when she was ready to take the next step, Maxon and America would be in the front row at her wedding, sitting right next to her parents, cheering her on.

"So what did Maxon do this time?" Kriss asked, relieved to have something to talk about that wasn't budget related.

"It's not so much what he did, but it's what he's going to do…" America said, vaguely.

"Poor King. What have you got him doing now?"

America sighed. "Just a little, tiny radical social revolution."

"_Again_?" Kriss laughed.

"I know, I know. I know I'm pressing my luck. I'm pressing my luck every which way I can possibly press it." she indicated the folders they were wading through. Their current project should have been revolutionary enough to satisfy her, she knew it.

Kriss and America had been talking through funding for a public school system. _Again_. Maxon promised America that, if she could fund it and oversee its implementation, then she could have it. And she _wanted_ it. Maybe Maxon saw it as busy work, or a pipe dream, but America had a shocking tendency to get what she wanted.

"Should I know about this one? Or is it safer if I'm surprised like everyone else?" Kriss asked, warily.

"I'm meddling with the laws of inheritance." Kriss gasped, and America pressed on casually, "See? No big deal."

"America, don't do it."

"I _know_. Believe me, I've read them. I read them all before I ever suggested such a thing to Maxon. They're a sticky spider's web of amendments and ambiguous language and if you tug one thread, it all falls apart. And then, possibly, there's no ironclad way to pass down the throne from monarch to monarch anymore and so then, maybe, there's a slight chance that there's no more monarchy."

"Couldn't you mess around with some other laws, instead? Traffic, maybe? Ooh, you could make it legal to turn your car left at a red light. That would be exciting, wouldn't it? Just messy enough for you, maybe, with the accident reports?"

America laughed. "I swear I'm not stirring up trouble for trouble's sake. This time it's important. It's about… well, children."

Kriss' eyebrows flew up, "Children? …Gracious, is it that time already?" There was a slight tremor in her voice. Maybe the slightest shadow of a regret. America remembered Kriss once saying, during the Selection, that she'd spent time imagining what her children with Maxon would look like. Maybe her arms still ached for them, from time to time.

"Pretty soon." America nodded pensively, to answer Kriss' question. "And buried in the laws of inheritance is the clause that would force me to marry my daughter off to a foreign prince when she came of age. And that's not happening, Kriss. That's _not_ happening."

"But Maxon is excellent friends with the English. And think of the Italians! Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't sending her someplace hostile."

"And if she didn't love the English? Or the Italians? Kriss, it isn't fair and it isn't right. Our royal men get an elaborate televised celebration of their budding sexuality as they power-date 35 women in the quest to marry for love. Our royal women get traded like cattle. I won't have it."

Kriss sighed, heavily. "I can't argue with that."

"I spoke to him about it a few nights ago, during a rebel attack."

"Oh, America! There was another rebel attack?" Worry covered Kriss' beautiful face and America waved it away like it was nothing. It hadn't been a bad one. No fatalities.

"I told him I wanted the laws amended to allow for the line of succession to include a female heir. So if we have a daughter first, she would inherit Maxon's throne and rule as hereditary monarch, even if she had younger brothers."

"America, that's…" Kriss sighed. "That's not possible."

"Oh? And dismantling the caste system, that's not possible either?" America demanded.

"The leadership of our country is passed down through the male line." Kriss reminded her.

"Oh, is it? Wow, I had no idea. Tell me more about the monarchy that I'm queen of, Kriss." America said, sarcasm oozing from her tone.

Kriss was cowed at once. "I only meant… you have to have a son, America. And he has to become King."

"Maybe I will. But maybe I'll have a daughter first. And I won't have her take a back seat to a younger brother just because she's a girl."

Kriss saw that she wasn't getting very far changing America's mind. "What does altering the line of succession have to do with keeping your potential daughter from being traded to a foreign country? Those are two different battles, America."

"I thought so, too. I was exhausted just thinking about contending with both of those injustices. But, after reading through the laws of inheritance, I realized that any amendment that gave my daughter the throne would empower her to choose her own suitor. Giving a princess that power in one amendment would nullify the stupid clause that would require us to ship her off to Swendway or the German Federation or something. It's two birds with one stone."

"So if you have a daughter first, she's protected."

"All of my daughters would be protected, once princesses are legally the equals of princes. It would be a huge step forward for them."

Kriss smiled a crooked little smile, "'_All _of them? Just how many are you planning on having?"

America shrugged, blushing faintly. "I come from a big family. Maxon always wanted a big family. He wants to fill these halls with wild redheaded children. We can only pray that they inherit his temperament and not mine, or we'd have a real cataclysm on our hands."

Kriss laughed. "You could sell tickets to that kind of circus."

"I don't think we'd have any choice. Can you imagine the _Report_s?"

"Oh, poor Gavril." Kriss bemoaned.

"He'd love it. It would make for excellent television, a parade of redheaded toddlers climbing all over the cameras and swinging from the lights."

"We'd never have to threaten to invade another country again." Kriss said, brightly. "We could just threaten to send them a pack of your wild children to babysit for a week."

"Its own kind of invasion." America pointed out, still laughing.

Kriss managed to choke down a sip of tea, still laughing at the mental image, and finally she said, soberly, "If you're serious about this, you know you need to call Princess Nicoletta. The Italians have laws on the books you could model your amendment after. Their women have been succeeding to the throne in their own right since their monarchy's inception."

America blinked, stunned she hadn't thought of that before. "Maybe I could swing a little political pressure on the issue for Maxon. Add a little extra incentive? I'm sure the Italians would _love _to see Illéa make progress on gender equality."

"Go easy on him, America." Kriss warned. "He loves to give you what you ask for, but this is a big ask. Don't… don't make him feel like a failure, or like he's put his country in danger with the Italians, if he can't swing this one for you."

Kriss was absolutely right. This particular request required a gentle touch. "You're right. That wasn't a good idea. I'll be careful with him." America promised, standing and stretching. Her fine black pants and powder blue blouse were wrinkled from the day she'd had sitting in that chair, discussing logistics. "Let's call if off for the day, Kriss. I need to clear my head before dinner."

"Alright then." Kriss stood and bounced a little on her knees, getting the blood flowing again. Her creme colored frock bore the telltale wrinkles, too. "Oh, before I forget. George asked me to find out if you read his proposal."

"Oh, yes." America grinned at the mention of Kriss' love. "How is _George_? Writing any other _proposals_?"

"Oh, not you, too." Kriss rolled her eyes. "Did you read it or not? … … Your Majesty." Kriss added the last part when her question came out somewhat snippier than she'd intended it to. America could see that the intrusive speculation into Kriss' relationship with George was wearing her down. Poor thing. America certainly knew what that was like.

"I read it. I loved it. I want to meet with the both of you to discuss it." Kriss' face was all alight at this news, but America added a stipulation that brought some gravity back to the brunette's expression. "But there's no conceivable way I can sell it until we get public schools off the ground. I can't sell it to Maxon, and I can't sell it to the advisors. Not until we've proven ourselves on this project. So see if that man of yours can put his considerable intelligence to helping us fund public schools, and then we can start looking at his proposal for public libraries."

The proposal really had been excellent. It would require some diplomacy, Illéa needed access to large-scale printing machines found mostly in the German Federation, and they'd need access to texts of books found primarily in England. They'd also need funding, of course, like everything else.

"Right, yes. One thing at a time." Kriss nodded, hardly containing her glee. "But he'll be _thrilled_ when I tell him what you said."

"Good." America smiled. "Oh, and Kriss?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever 'your Majesty' me again."


	3. Chapter 3

America was more than ready to see Maxon by the time dinner rolled around. After she'd walked Kriss out of the palace and into one of the royal fleet of black cars with the crest of Illéa on the side, chauffeured by a fully trained guard no less, America had spent the rest of her afternoon roaming the gardens, deep in thought.

She was beginning to regret the ultimatum she'd given Maxon, back in the safe room. 'Amend these laws, or no children'? What kind of person does that? She felt like a monster. An effective monster, maybe, because Maxon had certainly been giving her demands top consideration, but a monster all the same.

Kriss really had been right. As tenacious as America was, as much as she coveted getting her way about things, Maxon did not like to be manipulated. He did not like to be told what to do, he'd had quite enough of that growing up with Clarkson for a father. Maxon was King now, and in the end, he was in charge. If he didn't want to amend these laws, then it would never happen. America couldn't push or shove him into giving in to her demands, and it could be harmful to their relationship for her to try.

She thought about when she'd had the most success getting things from him in the past. It was when she'd asked, not told, nor bullied, nor demanded. Simply asked.

She wasn't prepared to rethink her position, but she was prepared to rethink her tactics. America still wouldn't risk bringing a daughter into a system of royalty so clearly and cruelly rigged against women. But maybe blatantly blackmailing Maxon with the family he'd always yearned for was not the best way to get what she wanted. She could be more imploring. Give Maxon a chance to be the hero, right the wrongs, and save the day. He'd appreciate that.

She was ready for him when she sat down in the dining room, and she waited a few minutes after she was served for his appearance, but it never came. It was her turn to be stood up. She supposed this was what she deserved, after hiding with Kriss in the Queen's study all day long, barely pausing for the sandwiches and fresh fruit brought up by Mary.

In fact, it wasn't until late that night that Maxon made his appearance. She was in her room, in an plush armchair by the open windows, reading through a cost estimate for training and placing new teachers in a theoretical public school system. It was astronomically expensive.

"Hm." Maxon said, alerting America to his presence. "I'm not used to seeing that expression on your face, my love. Did you borrow my furrowed brow for the evening?"

He was standing in the doorway which adjoined his room and hers. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, but his hair was in perfect order. So work must not have been too bad today.

"I thought that when I married you, I'd never have to worry about money again. Where it came from, how I'd ever manage to make it last." America sighed, setting aside the report and standing to embrace her husband. "I was wrong."

Maxon had a smile in his eyes that didn't quite make it to his tired face, "So your previous life as a five trained you well for your life as the Queen?"

"As it turns out, it did." America said, amused at the thought. "And I had the nerve to question you when you told me I'd make a good queen."

"I suppose you've learned a valuable lesson then?" Maxon wiggled his eyebrows at her ever so slightly. "About never questioning me?"

America had to laugh at that. He absorbed the sound like a plant basking in a half of a moment of sunlight. "Balcony?" he offered.

They liked to sit out on their adjoined balcony, reclined in their luxurious cushioned chairs, and look up at the sky. If Maxon made it up any time before midnight, and it wasn't the dead of winter, they almost always spent their evenings out on that balcony together.

"I was so hoping you'd say that, and not 'I'm off to another meeting, just came to tell you goodnight. Mwaah.'" The last part had been a caricature of the cheek kiss Maxon gave her when he was distracted by his troubles. She pressed her lips to the back of her hand when she made the sound to demonstrate. The rest had been a cartoonish impression of his voice.

"I do _not_ sound like that." Maxon objected, opening the door out to the balcony.

"Yes, you do." America grinned, ringing for Mary and then following Maxon out. "I did my impression for the head chef two weeks ago when I was approving the menu for your summit with the German Federation, and he said it was spot on."

"America." Maxon tilted his head to the side, "You're the Queen, remember? Of course our chef complimented your terrible attempt at an impression of me."

"If it was just a show of respect, then why did he laugh so long and so hard?" America said, raising her eyebrows as she asked him.

Maxon shook his head, thoroughly amused. "I don't know, maybe he's a sycophant?"

"And maybe you're ridiculous, so maybe my impression of you is spot on?" America laid back in her reclined chair with the air of someone who'd just won an important argument, and Maxon simply laughed at her and took his chair, too, kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs out. They locked hands and looked up at the stars.

Silence. Five whole minutes of silence, easily. Beautiful, peaceful, _normal_ silence.

"How was your day with Kriss?" Maxon asked, bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing America's knuckles. He toyed with her wedding band while he listened to her response.

"Productive." She said, sarcastically. "We found a whole lot of brand new problems we'd never even thought of before."

"Oh no." Maxon laughed, sympathetically. He'd had days like that, America had no doubt. "Any solutions?"

"Not really." America sighed. "But don't you worry about that. I'll figure it out."

"I know you will." Maxon smiled over at her. "Incidentally, now I know how you felt during the Selection; you ignored me all day and spent all of your time with Kriss and I was terribly lonely. I even started to wonder if I was in trouble with you."

America laughed at this. "Well, I _was_ about to propose to Kriss in fit of rage just to show you your place."

"What stopped you?" Maxon laughed, amazed that she was joking about that.

"It turns out, even the Queen can only be married to one person at a time."

"Ah. Darn the luck."

"Yeah. Now I guess I'll just have to be married to you." America pretended to pout, and that's when Mary made her appearance on the balcony.

"Your Majesties." she sank into a curtsy.

"Lemonade, please, Mary." America said. It was their usual balcony order, Mary was quite used to it. "Are you hungry, Maxon?"

"I ate." he assured her.

America turned to Mary and said, with a smile, "Does the chef have any of those brownies from yesterday leftover?"

Mary grinned back, "I'll bet he can find one, for _you_."

"Just one, Mary." Maxon added. "We'll share."

America nodded, and Mary disappeared, leaving the balcony doors open behind her.

"Maxon Schreave." America poked Maxon's ribs and he laughed, a ticklish response, "Haven't I taught you anything?"

"What did I do?"

"Never invite yourself to share a lady's brownie." America scolded. "If she wants to share with you, she will. And if you want a brownie so badly, get your own."

Maxon laughed at her. America could never be entirely sure, but she hoped that Maxon laughed more with her than he would have with any of the other Selection candidates. She liked to think that he did.

"Any word about that rebel attack?" America asked, returning her hand to Maxon's, and lacing their fingers together.

His thumb stroked hers softly as he pondered his response. "They're better funded now than they've ever been before."

"Better funded?" America asked. Then she sighed deeply, understanding landing heavily on her shoulders. "Two's?"

"Loyalists." Maxon nodded.

"Loyalists?" America asked.

"That's what they're calling themselves. They consider themselves 'loyal to Illéa', which is to say, loyal to my father's Illéa. Loyal to Gregory Illéa's Illéa."

"Loyal to the caste system and nostalgic for the days when eights wandered the streets, starving to death and homeless?"

"That's right."

"Let me guess, they miss the New Asian war?"

"As a matter of fact." Maxon nodded.

"They don't like the peace treaty you negotiated? Think we could have strong armed more resources from New Asia?"

"Were you hiding in the corner during my security briefing today, love?" he asked, but it was a grim attempt at a joke.

"I suppose it's not so surprising. We were expecting pushback. Even violent pushback."

"Still, a well-funded rebel army with the specific agenda of overthrowing the monarchy is not exactly what I was hoping for."

"What were you hoping for?" America asked.

"Maybe just some strongly-worded complaint letters?" Maxon shrugged, joking weakly. He went thoughtful after that, though. Silence fell like a hammer.

"Maxon?" America called him back.

"Hm?"

"You are a great king. Not 'good', nor 'wonderful', but '_great_'. You have greatness about you, do you know that?"

"I don't think I have." he shook his head softly.

"You _do_." America insisted. "And I'm proud of you. I love you, and your people love you. And you are a _great_ king."

Maxon absorbed her words in their entirety before replying, "I wouldn't be half the King I am today if it wasn't for you, America." he said, genuinely.

America smiled over at him as he planted a kiss on her wedding ring. She joked, "It's hard to argue with that. I'm pretty wonderful."

"Great." Maxon corrected her, gently. "You are a great queen, America."

Maybe that's what being in love was. Seeing greatness in each other, no matter what. But maybe, in this case, the greatness really was there.

They looked up at the stars and America ended up sliding, as she often did, into Maxon's chair with him. She couldn't even pretend it was because of the chill, this time. It was still early spring, but this night was as warm as sweet July.

Mary brought the tray out with a pitcher of fresh lemonade, two glasses of ice with pink straws poking out, and a small plate with one square brownie on it.

"Thank you, Mary." America said, from her relaxed position, curled up on Maxon's chest. "You're dismissed for the evening."

Mary had been with America long enough to know better than to try to stay and carry out her duties for the sake of propriety. That had always been more of Anne's preoccupation, anyway. Mary was perfectly content to call it an early night and allow the Queen to undress herself. Or, as was more frequently the case, allow the King to undress her.

Maxon filled a glass with lemonade using his free hand, the other stroking patterns on America's back. He took a sip, then lowered the glass to her level and she nipped at the straw until she managed to capture it in her mouth.

Maxon pressed his lips to the top of America's head, slowly, then leant back and took a deep breath. "America, I've been thinking about what you said."

America blinked and let the straw fall from her mouth, cutting off her supply of the cold, sweet liquid. "What did I say?"

"In the safe room?" he reminded her. "About the laws of inheritance?"

America gulped. Was he going to tell her off? Did he resent her manipulation of him? "I'm sorry about that, Maxon."

"But you have a point." Maxon said. America was surprised. She leaned back to look at his face, curiously. He continued, "It's not fair that we promise our boys the keys to the Kingdom and we make absolutely no allowances for the prosperity of our girls."

America beamed at him. He'd listened to what she'd said. He'd turned it over in his mind, considered the angles, and realized that he agreed with her. He was _so_ sexy when he agreed with her. "Maxon—"

"I'm not finished, America." Her smile faltered. "You have a point; but I don't know that there's anything we can do about it right now. We have to be very careful with how we proceed. We're changing the very foundations of Illéa right now, and timing is everything. If we want there to be a throne for any of our children, boys or girls, we need to be patient and calculating."

Patient.

Patient was not exactly America's middle name. She winced.

"You would consider it, though?" America asked, hopefully. "Our daughter ascending your throne?"

"Yes, of course." Maxon assured her. "America, I don't think women are inferior."

"I know that."

"I happen to love women."

"Yeah, I know that, too." America said, a bite to her tone. A small one. A nip. She was thinking of the Selection. It had been worth every moment, and she was infinitely glad she'd done it, but that didn't take away how painful the entire process had been. Sometimes she still felt echoes of that pain, though the source was long removed.

"Yes, you do." his eyes searched hers for a moment. "We talk to Stavros next. That's the next thing we do. In private, and dependent upon his utmost discretion. We discuss the law with him. We suggest our proposed amendment. He laughs at us for a while and shakes his head and then gets a little angry, and tells us it's madness and we'll bring down all of Illéa, trying to procure equal rights for our daughters. And then he'll think about it for a while. He'll toss and turn for a few nights, chewing it over in his mind. And then, eventually, he'll come back to us. And he'll either show us the way, or he'll shut us down. Either way, with the state of things currently… with the rebels and the loyalists attempting to overthrow my reign… we abide by his recommendation."

America nodded, "I understand."

"And if he says 'no'?" Maxon asked, skeptically.

"I'll try again later." America said. "I won't give up, that's not me, but I do understand, Maxon. We need stability right now, consistency. The people need steady leadership. A steady, unsurprisingly male line of succession might be what they need right now."

The corners of Maxon's lips tugged upwards. "I'm proud of you, Ames."

"What? Why?" She still thought it was funny when he used May's name for her. Funny, but endearing and adorable and knee-weakening, too.

"There was a time when Stavros shutting you down might have sent you storming onto the _Report_ and recklessly calling for the immediate and complete overthrow of the foundations of Illéa."

"God, Maxon, _Once. _I recklessly called for the immediate and complete overthrow of the caste system live, on national television, _once_. Let it go." she joked. "And give me more lemonade."

Maxon chuckled, not his loud, hilarious, terrible, snorting laugh, but his deep, throaty, quietly amused laugh. He lowered the lemonade back down so that she could reach the straw again. "You know, Mary gave us two glasses."

America shook her head, drinking deeply, then when she'd had her fill, she collapsed back down on Maxon's chest and snuggled in. "But the other glass is so far away." America argued.

"Yes. You'd have to reach your hand all the way out and pick it up." he agreed.

"I'm the Queen of Illéa, I don't do heavy lifting." America said in a haughty tone that brought out Maxon's other laugh. The embarrassing one. The one America found adorable. Contrary to her word, she did reach out and pick up the brownie from its little plate. She tore off a piece and fed it to Maxon, then tore off a piece for herself.

It meant the world to her, she reflected, that Maxon was willing to trouble one of his royal advisers with her whims.

"America?" Maxon said, softly, swallowing his brownie bite and setting aside the glass of lemonade so that both of his hands could rest on her body, one on her back and one on her hip.

"Hm?"

"…I practiced how I was going to say this… I can't remember… I've gone blank, I can't remember what I was going to say."

"Brownie will help." America said, stuffing another bite in his unwilling mouth.

"…Though it's very good…" he chewed, "I don't think it will actually help…" he swallowed and then licked his dry lips. He was nervous.

"Maxon, you can tell me anything." America reminded him.

"Yes… but how to say it in such a way so that you won't get angry and I won't have to spend the next two weeks making it up to you…"

"What's going on?" she asked, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the chair. She set the remaining piece of brownie back on the plate and gave Maxon her full attention. Whatever it was, it was serious, if it was enough to make him nervous.

Maxon took a steadying breath. "One of the measures we can take towards quieting the voices calling for an end to my terrible reign, is to reaffirm that reign."

"Reaffirm it?" America asked, tilting her head to the side. What did that mean? Like a re-coronation? A recommitment to his duty to Illéa?

"…An heir, America… an heir would solidify my position as King irrefutably."

America took in a deep breath at this, her mouth a perfect 'O' as she considered his words. "You talked about this today? In the security briefing?"

"The intelligence briefing _and_ the security briefing, separately."

"Oh." America gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Wow. I didn't know family planning was on the agenda for those meetings, or I'd have invited myself."

"America." Maxon said, imploringly, "We said we were ready."

"No, Maxon, _you_ said you were ready. _I_ said I won't raise my daughters to be bought and sold like slaves to whichever of your allies is feeling greedy or lecherous." America snapped.

"And we will go and speak with Stavros at the earliest possible convenience to address that concern." Maxon said. "I was merely pointing out that maybe the timing is right. We were _just_ talking about children, and then it was brought up today in not one, but two of my meetings, entirely separately, without any prompting between them."

America felt tears flood her eyes and she blinked them back, furiously. But too late, because Maxon had seen them. He was sitting up next to her, now. "It's not supposed to be this way, Maxon. This isn't how we are supposed to decide to have our first child! At the behest of some stupid intelligence officer and some stupid security expert… You're supposed to sweep me off my feet and fill my head with images of Christmases and… and… and _Halloweens_, and little bare feet running across marble entryways or into our bed on stormy nights…" Once upon a time, he'd known this. Once upon a time, he'd painted her a lovely mental portrait of holidays and birthdays and peanut butter finger prints on his desk.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. "I'm not _telling_ you." he pointed out.

"No, you had better not be!" she agreed, fiercely.

"This is a discussion." he reminded her. "We're discussing it before making any kind of decision."

"I'm well aware that it's my duty as the Queen to provide you with heirs, Maxon, but… didn't we _just_ finish talking about our girls and what kind of future we want for them? What kind of Illéa we want to bring them in to? Weren't we talking about that, like, two minutes ago?"

"We have time, America." Maxon said, soothingly. "Depending on when we conceive our child, we could have upwards of a year from now to enact an amendment. I am _not_ ignoring the problem with the laws of inheritance. But I did want to mention to you, so that you would be aware, that our intel suggests that there is a significant amount of unrest that could be quieted with the arrival of a royal baby. And when there's a royal birth, polling indicates a surge in affection for the royal family, which is important right now, for us as rulers. Now is a good time for the country to have a royal baby. It wasn't before, it hasn't been a good time for a royal baby for a long time. That's changed now, so I thought I'd inform you."

America frowned, anger and panic abating. It stung less, now that he'd explained it all to her. This wasn't his formal proposal that they conceive a child, this was just an update. And he wasn't just paying lip service to the idea of a female hereditary monarch, he was genuinely pursuing the changes she was asking for.

She stuffed the entire rest of the brownie in her mouth in one bite and he laughed at her, stroking the side of her arm soothingly. She chewed her way through, chased it down with a long drink of lemonade, and made a face at the taste of lemonade and chocolate together. Finally she turned to Maxon, his nose mere inches from her own, and said, "Well… we're not making a baby _tonight_."

Maxon laughed, "Of course not." then he added, in an overly flirtatious voice, "Unless, of course, you wanted to."

America shook her head and fought the smile that spread across her face. Fought it and lost. "I'll think about it, Maxon."

"Good."

"I want my meeting with Stavros first, I won't compromise on that. I need to _know _that he's at least considering my amendment."

"Alright, then."

"And Kriss had a really good idea, Maxon."

"…Kriss… about the public school system?" he asked, confused.

"About the amendment."

Maxon frowned, "You told _Kriss_ about your plans to slap an amendment onto the laws of inheritance? You realize that, if word got out—"

"This is Kriss we're talking about, Maxon. She would never do that."

"There would be _panic_, America."

"Maxon. It was Kriss." America said again, soothingly.

"Right." he finally agreed.

"She suggested I give Nicoletta a call. Get some advice on drafting the amendment from her, maybe base the wording on the Italian laws."

"That's brilliant." Maxon said, awe in his voice, nodding excitedly. "They don't have gender restrictions on their line of succession." He thought it over. "You should call Nic as soon as you can. Don't give her anything specific, don't confirm anything outright… but get her advice. If we go into our meeting with Stavros with an early draft of the amendment, and if it's any good at all, he might be more inclined to support us." Maxon grinned. "And you know who else might be useful? The English. The hereditary Queens of England have been world renowned for nearly a thousand years."

America had to smile at this last suggestion. "This little project is going to be the worst kept secret in the entire world."


	4. Chapter 4

America ended up placing the call to Italy in the middle of the night, a few nights after her discussion on the balcony with Maxon, but it was worth the wait, the ridiculous hour, and the extreme volume emanating from the telephone held to America's ear. Nicoletta proved more than helpful.

Wrapped in her pale blue silk dressing gown over her white nightie, America knew she was quite the sight. Her hair was long and unruly, vibrant compared to the rest of the palace at this hour. Her voice seemed almost to echo through her private office because the whole floor was so still and silent. She just knew the guards standing stock-still outside could hear her every word. She had to be careful what she said.

"I am asking myself—" The amused Italian princess' voice said clearly (and loudly), "what my favorite Illéan queen could possibly want with a translation of our Italian Act of Succession. And I am answering myself that she must be expecting a little prince or princess in the coming months, and looking to change the Illéan laws governing it."

"Now, Nic." America said, at half the volume Nicoletta adopted, "Let's not be dramatic. There is no little prince or princess as of yet, but I will say that I am curious about the laws governing the succession of royal titles for _all_ of our allies. We have much to learn from each other."

"A diplomatic answer? From my America? Pfff…" Nicoletta said, almost audibly shaking her head. "This is my private line, mia bella. Come to me with gossip or go through official channels. It is your choice." It was a gentle reminder that they were supposed to be friends.

"You're right." America sighed and sank down into the chair behind her desk. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and closed the open folders of work calling out for her attention. "I'm sorry, Nicoletta."

"Do you want to tell me what is actually going on?"

"It's nothing to get excited about yet, just a little side project that Maxon and I are working on."

"I see. And it doesn't have anything to do with anticipating a little prince or princess in the near future?"

"I would tell you, Nic, I _will_ tell you, but there's nothing to tell. At least not yet."

"Alright then." She was appeased. "Give me a few minutes, I am having my assistant dig through and find the act in question. But, America?"

"Yes?"

"If this curiosity has anything to do with a potential change in Illéan law, perhaps to be more inclusive towards women, then, mia caro, I am confidant in saying that Italy would be proud to publicly support such a change."

America smiled to herself, drawing comfort from the words of the second royal friend she'd ever made. Maxon had been her first. "Did you… Did you just call me 'my dear' in Italian?"

"Yes, why?" Nicoletta asked, distractedly. She was in the middle of her work day, after all, and likely tending to several other matters while graciously taking America's call. Even so, it was hard to imagine Nicoletta at work. Nicoletta only ever seemed truly herself when she was at parties.

"No reason." America chuckled to herself.

In the end, Nicoletta personally translated the full text of the Italian Act of Succession into english, right there, over the phone. America took careful notes, asking many questions about phrasing and the significance of the punctuation. America did not emerge from her office until dawn, and she met Maxon for breakfast in the dining room.

"I don't like waking up without my sleeping wife to stare at. It's part of my morning ritual." Maxon complained when he saw her walk in. He was already seated, dressed, and in the middle of a piece of toast.

America leant down and kissed him on the cheek on her way to her place at his side. "That's creepy, Maxon."

"You got Nicoletta, then?"

"I certainly did. We translated the act, and she all but guaranteed public support from Italy, in the event we choose to model any of our laws off of theirs."

Maxon nodded, taking that in. "That's not nothing. Well done, for one morning, my love."

"Thank you." America poured herself a small glass of orange juice and stared at the food in front of her, without taking a bite. "Maxon, am I wasting your time? Did I just waste three hours of Nicoletta's time?"

Maxon looked over at her, surprised. "Of course not."

"You think the people would accept our daughter as their queen?"

"I know they would. They'd fall in love with her the moment she was born, just as we would. They'd watch her grow and learn and test herself, they'd watch her triumphs and failures just as they saw mine. And when the time came for me to step down and for her to ascend, they would love her as their own."

This was reassuring, to say the least. Anytime America was uncertain about something involving being royal, she would defer to Maxon's wisdom. He'd been at this longer than she had, and he still had a lot to teach her.

"So you've warmed up to the idea, then?" America asked, finally taking a bite of her eggs.

"The idea of my daughter succeeding me?"

"Mhmm."

"It was hard to imagine at first, I will admit. But once I let go of my sometimes too vociferous desire to be my father, but better, I grew somewhat attached to the idea."

"'Be your father, but better'? What does that mean?" America asked, concerned.

Maxon was slow to respond. "Just that I'm aware that I sometimes behave in stubborn ways, committed to antiquated ideas, for no other reason than that I'm still, after all this time, trying to make my father proud. I'm still trying to impress him, and still afraid of disappointing him, even though I'm long past ever managing either."

America swallowed and said, taking Maxon's hand. "You impress me. Does that count?"

"It certainly does." he smiled. "And the truth is, I've found myself daydreaming in my duller meetings all week. Imagining her hair, red and curly like yours, but with my mother's eyes and my terrible habit of pacing. I've been imagining having her in these dull meetings with me when she's older, your sense of mischief sparkling out from my mother's eyes looking back at me from across the table. Teaching her, guiding her, dancing with her at state functions, two rulers of Illéa sharing one waltz."

"Maxon, that's beautiful." America said. She was frozen, a strawberry halfway to her lips, gaping at the image of it all.

"As much as having a son after her would add to our family, and as much joy as it would bring, I can't imagine looking into my mother's eyes and telling my daughter that she couldn't ever be the Queen. That she'd have to leave Illéa and rule over a country full of foreigners, all because of her pesky baby brother."

America chuckled at this. "I was so sure I'd have to fight you for this. I can't tell you what it means to me… that we genuinely agree on something so important to me."

He smiled over at her, and then went back to his breakfast. Then he said, "Oh, and I spoke with Silvia. I canceled your morning, you're going back to bed."

"What? _Maxon_." America complained.

"I won't hear it, America. The Queen is not allowed to look more exhausted than the King, it's bad for my public image. Makes it seem like I'm not working very hard." he joked.

"I'm supposed to be planning for the palace egg roll! Children from all of the remaining castes coming together with an equal chance to walk away with baskets full of candy and colorful eggs? Their parents mingling and getting to know one another as more than just numbers? This _must_ ring a bell."

"You still have a month to plan that egg roll—"

"Fabrics, Maxon, fabrics must be ordered—"

"Wow." Maxon sat back in his chair, shaking his head and chuckling. "Silvia really did a number on you."

America scrunched her nose distastefully. "What does that mean?"

"It means that, when you first walked into this palace, you never would have cared about getting a fabric order in a _month_ before a party. And you never would have indicated that you 'must' do anything."

America poked her tongue out at him, realizing that he was right and not liking it, and he only laughed harder. "Oh, shut up." she complained as he laughed louder. Finally, she picked up a handful of scrambled eggs and rubbed them all over his face. He fell deathly silent.

"I was mistaken." Maxon said, frowning seriously. "Silvia has more work to do on you, yet." He took a long drink of tea, and then poured the remaining lukewarm contents of his cup on top of her head.

"Maxon!" America shrieked. "How dare you?!" She pretended to be outraged, smashing a piece of buttered toast into his shirt and receiving a face full of oatmeal in return. "I am the Queen!" she made to paint him with blueberry preserves, but he got up and ran. She had to chase him into the hall. "Arrest him!" She yelled to the guards who were desperately trying to remain decorous and not burst out laughing at the King and Queen of Illéa. "Off with his head, I'm your queen!"

She finally caught him rounding a corner and slathered his neck and his bright white, starched collar with blue jam.

He narrowed his eyes at her, though never pulling away from her touch, and said softly, "You had better run, my queen."

"Run?"

He lifted his hands slowly into the air, bent his fingers, and started wiggling them around. Comprehension dawned on America's face. Maxon had taken a food fight and turned it into a tickle fight.

"No!" America dashed away as quickly as her feet would carry her, "No, Maxon! This isn't fair! Don't tickle me! Please!" Her cries were growing louder and higher in pitch as she sprinted across the palace. Eventually, as they were bound to do, they came across Silvia going about her duties.

Silvia looked thoroughly exasperated to see the two of them sprinting by. Around her, assistants and maids fell into deep curtsies and stayed there. "Your Majesties," Silvia called, "I was told that the Queen wasn't feeling well this morning."

"I'm not! Because he won't stop chasing me!" America gasped.

"Will I see you this afternoon, Queen America?"

"Yes!" and with that, America was around another corner and Maxon was hot on her heals.

"Alright, alright, alright!" she heard Maxon call, finally, and noticed his footsteps behind her slowing. "I won't chase you anymore." he gasped. "You're _fast._"

America slowed and turned back to him, a good ten feet between them, "I once outran an entire hoard of Northern Rebels."

"I remember that." Maxon smiled. He held up his hands in surrender, then turned to adjust his tie in the mirror next to him. Just underneath sat an ornate wooden table and a two foot tall vase full of flowers. "I suppose I'll have to change clothes now. Clean up before starting the day."

"That would be a good idea, my love." America said, coming closer. Her heart raced in her chest, but her breathing was starting to regulate again. "Plus, it'll give us a few extra minutes together this morning. It's hard to complain about th—"

The moment America was within striking distance, Maxon quickly ripped the vase of flowers off its perch and splashed the water it held all over her. The effect was like throwing a bucket of room temperature, day old water onto the Queen of Illéa. She was soaked from head to toe, her dressing gown clinging to her body, and the flowers from the vase falling pathetically at her feet.

Maxon doubled over with laughter at the state of her. Every time he peeked up to look at her shocked face, he laughed even harder. The snorting, gasping, embarrassing laugh. Therefore, he didn't notice her walk right up to him until she gave him an enormous, soaking wet hug, taking care to drench him as much as possible. She even gathered her hair up and strained it onto his shoulder.

His laughing stopped as he looked down at her affectionately and she looked up at him challengingly. She'd soaked him. It was his move.

He wrapped her up in a warm, deep, firm kiss. It was the only thing any sane man would have done in that situation.

That week, America and Maxon spent their evenings in his office, practicing for their meeting with Stavros and toying with the phrasing of their amendment. Though they wanted to be as specific as possible, they knew that the shorter the actual amendment was, the less chance there was for it to be misinterpreted. They tossed away more false-starts at the first draft of this amendment than should have been reasonable.

Finally, they decided on the simple line, '_The natural born princes and princesses of Ill__é__a shall henceforth be looked upon as equals in eyes of the law; the duties, responsibilities, and privileges of the natural born princes and princesses of Ill__é__a shall not be altered or infringed upon on the basis of gender.__'_

America mouthed the word 'shall' every time she got to it, as she read their little law over and over in her head. Maxon watched her at it, smiling.

It was a close imitation of the Italian translation Nicoletta had given America, and it wouldn't take much to enact. It wasn't as though it required massive funding like their other projects. Still, the importance of this little amendment could not possibly be overstated. If they could pull it off, it would be only the nineteenth amendment made to the laws of inheritance since their inception under Gregory Illéa's watchful eyes. The other eighteen had been primarily semantic, minuscule in scope, nothing nearly as sweeping as what Maxon and America were attempting. Mostly, the other eighteen were meant to make it more difficult to challenge the authority of the Schreaves after they took over for the Illéas.

Finally, America lifted her sky blue eyes to Maxon's warm brown eyes and said, "Stavros will like this?"

"'Like' might be a strong word. But it's respectable. He'll respect it."

America nodded, and set the paper down on Maxon's desk. She certainly wasn't going to manage to predict what wording Stavros would respond best to, she hardly knew the man. This was Maxon's department. "I trust you." she said, standing.

"Alright, then." Maxon said. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. I don't think we'll have time for a proper meeting until early next week, but I do want this to get a proper meeting." He looked down at their amendment, then filed it carefully away in the top right drawer of his desk.

"That's fine." America said. "I can wait. I've been meaning to visit the house and spend some time with my family. And I've got that appointment with Dr. Ashlar."

"Oh, right." Maxon remembered. America had agreed to meet with Dr. Ashlar for a physical, and to discuss going off of the birth control tablets she'd been taking continuously since the month before her wedding.

"When I stop taking the tablets, they'll need to monitor me closely to make sure my health holds up. My schedule will need to be a little light for a few days, until I'm cleared."

"Are you nervous?" Maxon asked, standing up and offering her his arm. They were going back to their room, which was a relief, although America was disappointed that it was after midnight and so it wasn't safe for them to go out on the balcony.

"Yes." America said, honestly, wrapping her arm around his and letting him lead them out. "I can't imagine I'll be much fun to be around, when I'm hormonal and pregnant and crazier than usual."

"That'll be a sight."

"I could do something shocking. Storm onto the set of the _Report _and recklessly demand the dismantling of the caste system again." It was their favorite go-to joke.

"You could." Maxon nodded. "It would be much safer now, though. What with our being in middle of dismantling the castes anyway."

"I just… I don't ever want you to dread coming back to me at the end of the day." America said, and Maxon stopped abruptly in the hallway.

"How could you think… Have I ever give you any indication—"

"No." America said. "But I know that I'm a handful."

"I happen to enjoy having my hands full." he reminded her.

"I just… I need you to be here for me, Maxon. I'll be cranky and puffy and in a considerable amount of discomfort, even some pain, and I'll be scared and anxious, nervous, and I won't be any fun to be around, not any, not at all. But I still need you to be here for me."

"I will be! America, I swear—"

"I don't mean emotionally. Well… I do, but what I'm talking about is actually, physically. I will require your physical presence with me. I always feel better when we're together."

Maxon nodded, then turned and continued walking with her. His physical presence was a lot harder to promise. He was thoughtful, as he crafted his response. "Whatever you need, America. I will do everything in my power to make it happen for you. I'll start passing a few more responsibilities on to the advisers. And you might start accompanying me to a few more meetings. But we'll make it work. We'll clock more hours together, I promise."

"Good." America said, feeling slightly less nervous already. "And Maxon?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Infinite massages." she made her next demand.

"Infinite massages?"

"Infinite massages." she nodded, holding his arm just a little tighter.


	5. Chapter 5

America was more than ready for a trip out of the Palace. It had been over a month since she'd last journeyed to the outside world, and the confines of the golden cage were beginning to drive her crazy. Her life was so incredibly busy, and the Palace was so impressively vast that time had a way of sneaking by; days became weeks, weeks turned to months, and suddenly she'd look up and realize that she hadn't left the house since February.

She called her mother that morning to let her know that she'd be coming over, once she'd officially cleared her field trip with security and with Silvia. America rode over in an unmarked black car, chauffeured by a highly trained guard who would be keeping watch over her all day, in conjunction with the guards who always stood watch over her family.

America felt sweet relief the moment the car rolled past the enormous gates that marked the end of the palace grounds. She was out, she was in the world. The feeling of freedom was brief, her family lived very close to the palace, but it was enough to breathe new life into her.

May was the first to greet her, bouncing out of the house and up the path as the car came to a stop. She didn't wait for the chauffeur to open the door, May flung the back door wide open and ducked into the car to embrace America tightly.

"So you've missed me, then?" America laughed.

"Did you bring me anything?" May asked, leaning back. She'd be eighteen a little too soon for America's tastes, but she would always be May. A little innocent, and a little bit wide-eyed. She'd been too young to remember the hardest times the Singers had suffered through, which meant that she had a softer view of the world than America did, and not even the loss of their father could harden her.

"I don't know." America shrugged, playing coy and giving May both of her hands so that she could be pulled from the car. "This was sort of a last minute visit, May." May shot her a look that told America that she wasn't fooling anyone with that act, and America laughed. She recognized that exact expression as one of her own. Looking at May wearing that expression was like looking into a mirror image of herself from three years ago. During the Selection, as a matter of fact. "Fine." America laughed. "Thompson has them." America tilted her head to the chauffeur who was now standing next to them, at attention.

May went to stand right in front of Thompson, a hand outstretched, and Thompson's serious facade broke for a moment as he chuckled at her. He turned back to the car and pulled out the box of strawberry tarts that were May's favorite palace gift (other than new dresses, which could not be arranged on such short notice).

"Thanks, Ames." May said, taking the box and dashing.

"Save some for Gerad!" America called. Gerad was a strapping ten year old now, muscular given his young age, and loving every moment of having the freedom to run wild and play sports all day long. America often tried to remind him not to get too comfortable with life as a 'One' because there wouldn't be caste divisions forever, but he didn't care. It wasn't the 'One' status he was concerned with, it was the freedom that came with it. And that freedom wasn't going anywhere.

America's mother was the next to greet her, in the doorway, with a hug and a smile. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm well, Mom." America assured her.

Magda narrowed her eyes a bit, searching America's face. "You looked a bit worried on the _Report_ last week, is something troubling you?"

Was something troubling her? Did being pressured into having a baby, contending with an impossible public school system struggle, personally coordinating the palace's social schedule, and trying to amend the laws of inheritance without accidentally destroying the monarchy count as 'trouble'?

"No, Mom. Everything's fine."

"Good. You're getting enough sleep?"

America was amused by this concern, "What if I wasn't?"

Her mother just shook her head at this challenge. Of course she couldn't march into America's bedroom and tuck her in by eight o'clock every night like she had done when America was a kid. But that didn't mean that the instinct was gone.

"America!" A happy voice from behind her called. Kenna.

"Ken!" America practically ran into her big sister's arms. "I'm so glad to see you." It was true. As much as America had been looking forward to seeing the rest of her family, Kenna was the one who stuck out in her mind as the person she wanted to talk to the most. Every once in a while, even the Queen of Illéa needed some time with her big sister.

"Yeah?" Kenna asked, amused and surprised. America was always more independent than May, so it was easy to forget, but America was Kenna's little sister, the one she grew up closest to and playing with. America was Kenna's version of May.

"Yeah. Where's James?"

"Back in Carolina. We sent him on a weekend of much needed peace and quiet to visit with his family. He's earned it." America knew how much James had missed his family after moving to Angeles to live with so many Singers. It was good that they could afford to let him visit home every once in a while, though it was still difficult to travel with Astra for such long distances.

"And where is the little monkey?" America asked of her niece.

"Out in the gardens, playing with Gerad." Gerad was remarkably patient with three year old Astra, given how rough he usually liked to play. It was actually very sweet to watch. America wondered, for a queasy yet thrilling moment, if her children would be like that. A rough, rowdy older brother who could only be tamed by his enchanting baby sister.

"Let's go spy on them." America suggested, looping her arm through Kenna's. It was such a relief, just to be with her older sister. This was the first time they'd been together since Christmas.

Kenna walked with her, slowly, out into the gardens that surrounded their house. In an expanse of grass to the side of the house, Gerad was clearly visible rolling a ball back and forth with Astra, who kept getting distracted by butterflies and wild flowers, much to Gerad's chagrin.

"How long until you give me another one of those?" America asked, still watching Astra play.

"Another niece?"

"I'd take a nephew at this point, I'm not picky." America smiled and Kenna laughed.

"A couple of more years." Kenna replied. "James and I want Astra to be a little older and a little more independent before we introduce another little person into the mix." The ability to time the birth of their children had been the greatest gift Kenna and James were given when they were promoted to Ones, America knew it. "But what about me?" Kenna joked. "I already gave you one. It's your turn. Pay up, I want my niece or nephew."

America laughed a little, "Soon."

"Soon?" Kenna asked, eyebrows flying up her forehead. She hadn't been expecting a direct answer to the question, she'd only been teasing. She knew that the conception of a royal heir was a matter of state that she wouldn't necessarily be privy to, right away.

"Not that soon!" America rushed to explain. She didn't want Kenna to assume that there was already a little heir or heiress on the way. "But... I met with the palace physician on Wednesday. I'm off of my birth control tablets."

Kenna was surprised, "Wow, America. I didn't... I had no idea... When did you and Maxon decide to do this? Start your family? This is so exciting!"

"Keep it to yourself, okay, Ken? I don't need the added pressure from Mom or, God forbid, May." she sighed.

"Pressure?" Kenna was a little too attentive for her own good. She had this older-sisterly ability to read America like a book. America wondered if she'd ever be as good at counseling May as Kenna was at counseling America.

"Well, of course. It's the primary duty of the Queen of Illéa. I've made a _lot _of mistakes since moving into that palace. This is the one thing I can't mess up."

"Sure, but you've got time, America. You're young. You've got years, and the longer you wait, the longer Maxon will be King. Illéa needs him for as long as we can have him, Ames."

America hadn't thought of that. Having a baby basically started the timer ticking down to the end of Maxon's reign, not to mention the start of a brand new Selection. America took a long, nervous breath. That revelation wasn't exactly helping with the pressure.

"The advisers want a royal baby sometime in the next year." America said, then she looked up at her older sister, hurrying to add, "And that is entirely confidential-"

"I won't tell." Kenna promised.

"Not even James?"

"James wouldn't ask." Kenna laughed. "This is your secret, America, it's safe with me. I won't give it away, it isn't mine to give."

"Thanks, Ken." America sighed, only marginally relieved. Knowing that Kenna would keep her confidence didn't do much to ease the rest of her troubles. However, this stroll through these gardens was proving itself just as soothing as any of her strolls through the palace gardens. She could feel herself drinking in the sunlight like she'd been starving for it, and it was making her stronger.

"So the advisers, huh? That's not exactly romantic." Kenna smiled, sympathetically.

"It's something Maxon and I were already discussing, but... this definitely adds some tension to the whole process."

"I know this isn't the most useful advice, but I don't think you should worry. James and I conceived Astra basically immediately, and Mom and Dad didn't have any problem coming up with five children."

"That's not really my main concern. Not yet, anyway. They've switched me from the birth control tablets to these vitamins that are supposed to make me extra... I don't know, fertile." America blushed at the thought.

"See? This is the palace we're talking about. They've got producing heirs down to a science." Kenna said, reassuringly.

"Yeah." America said, distractedly. 'A science' really was what it felt like. Like she was supposed to be some sort of human incubator for their strategically timed, preferably male heir, and the whole country was going to turn on her if she couldn't produce. Or, rather, reproduce.

"Aw, America." Kenna smiled down at the look on America's face, "It's going to be fine. Give yourself time and go easy on yourself, okay?"

America sighed, nodding, and twiddled her thumbs together. She looked down at her clasped hands and pressed her lips tightly together. Conceiving Maxon's heir was one anxiety, a big one, but not the main one. She wondered if she dared lend voice to her most secret anxiety. The one that had been following her around like a ghost for days now. The one she could never bring herself to say in front of Maxon. "It's times like these, I really miss Amberly." she finally said it, and listened to the ring of Maxon's mother's name in the air. "She knew_ exactly _what this pressure was. She lost two before she got Maxon, did you know that? Maxon would have had a house full of brothers and sisters."

"God, America. I had no idea."

America sighed. "I can't imagine, on top of the heartbreak of suffering not one but _two_ miscarriages, having to struggle with the idea that you might not _ever_ be able to produce an heir. Your most important job as the Queen. What the advisers must have been hinting at to Clarkson behind her back. What the palace gossip must have been like, though she'd have heard it eventually from her maids." America internally shuddered at the thought. The only external manifestation was a slight shake of her head. "She'd know exactly what to say to me right now."

Kenna looked America over and sighed. "I don't know, baby sister. Your problems have finally outgrown me." she shook her head, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you've spoken with Maxon about this, have you?"

"A little. He knows I'm anxious. He's having trouble keeping up with all of the reasons why, though, because they change about every five minutes."

"Did you mention missing Queen Amberly?"

"No." America shook her head, firmly. "I can't do that to him."

"Why not? He'd love to know how fond you were of her."

"He's aware of how fond I was of her. He doesn't need me piling on to his worries and concerns by complaining about how much _I_ miss _his_ dead mother."

Kenna cast her a sideways look, "I don't think you should worry about that this time. Sometimes, sure, be protective of him. But not this time. He knew her better than you did, he might know what she'd tell you in this situation. Even if he doesn't, he's the greatest piece of her you have left, and I am certain he'd be happy to talk about her with you any time."

Kenna had a point. Maxon _was_ the greatest piece of Amberly she had left.

"Maybe." America conceded. "If the right moment presents itself. He just… he works so hard, Ken, and it never lets up. The job is never easy, there are no weekends or vacations… he's afraid to sleep, because of what could happen while he's resting. I genuinely loathe adding to his burden."

Kenna patted America's hand resting on her arm. "That's 'cause you love him, Ames. You want to take all of the weight off of his shoulders that you possibly can. And he loves you, too, so he feels the same way. He'd leap at the chance to help you feel better."

"You're probably right." America relented. Then she teased, "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm an old married lady, America, I have a lot of wisdom." Kenna winked at her.

It was supposed to be a joke, but America wondered, for a moment, if she could share a bit more of her burden. Maybe get just a little bit more advice. "Kenna? There's something else."

"What is it?" Kenna asked, interestedly. She liked being useful like this.

America wasn't sure what she was looking for, so she didn't know how to ask for it. "I'm working on a project right now, with Maxon… there's nothing definite, but it's top secret."

"Is it a state secret? Because you know you can't share those with me."

"No, nothing like that. It's a secret because that's how we stay in control of it."

Kenna didn't really understand, but she nodded. "Alright."

"…Just… how do you feel… how do people feel… what do you _think_ about the idea of possibly having a woman succeed Maxon to the throne of Illéa?"

"A woman? Like, if you and he had a daughter?"

"Yeah."

"Has that ever happened before? A woman inheriting the Illéan crown?"

"No."

"Is it even possible?"

"Well… that's a complicated question." America sighed and rubbed her forehead roughly. "As of now, it only happens if our _only_ child is a girl, or if we only have girls. But, the Schreaves haven't produced a single daughter in three generations, basically since they took over the Crown."

"So, it's been a while since anyone concerned themselves with the role of women in the monarchy?" Kenna summarized.

"Exactly. A _long_ while. The laws on the books governing princesses were put in place by Gregory Illéa, himself, mostly to codify his daughter, Katherine's marriage. He put the strategy he'd used to negotiate her marriage right into the laws of inheritance, to reinforce the political power of that union."

"And your question for me is… what do I think about changing those laws?"

"No." America said a little too quickly, then added urgently, "That kind of talk won't get us anywhere right now. I'm just curious to know what you think about the _potentia_l for Maxon's and my daughter to one day possibly ascend the throne."

"Hmm." Kenna said, thoughtfully. She took her time before responding. "I think that, if anyone can break the curse and give the Schreaves a baby girl, it's you, America. You're not exactly a conformist in any respect, I can't imagine you conforming to their boys-only streak. And if that girl is born first… I can't think of a single plausible reason why she shouldn't be the Queen one day."

America almost audibly sighed with relief. "If you think that, other people will, too."

"Yes." Kenna said, hesitantly. "But not everyone, Ames."

America laughed, "Getting everyone in Illéa to agree on something is like trying to get cats to walk in a parade. Unilateral support is not something we ever count on."

"…Just be careful." Kenna warned. "It could be dangerous, messing with the order of succession. People go along with it because it's what's done. If you start questioning one aspect of it… you call into question all of it. Maxon's entire claim to the throne."

"That's… well, that would be why it's a secret." America said, softly. If a palace outsider like Kenna could immediately spot the risks associated with amending the laws of inheritance, then they really were as much of a problem as they seemed to be. America wasn't overly agonizing over this, she wasn't blowing it out of proportion in her mind. It was real, and it was dangerous.

May chose that moment to catch up to them in the gardens, so the topic of conversation was quickly steered to lighter, pleasanter matters. America enjoyed spending the afternoon with her family, kicking the ball around with Gerad, helping her mother set the dinner table, cuddling Astra (which helped her to think that maybe she wouldn't be totally hopeless as a mother, after all), but hanging over her head for the entire visit was the specter of her conversation with Kenna and what it had confirmed for her.

Amending the laws of inheritance was tantamount to blatantly calling the entire monarchy into question. Queen America was playing with fire.


	6. Chapter 6

America paced back and forth behind Maxon's closed office doors as they waited for Stavros to arrive. She was wringing her hands together, running the wording of the amendment through her mind over and over, and still mouthing the word 'shall' every time she got to it. Maxon, on the other hand, seemed much more at ease, hands in his pockets, leaning back against his desk, watching her with great amusement on his face.

"You've learned a few bad habits from me, my dear." he said.

"Like what?" she paused, surprised that he was choosing this moment to criticize her.

"Pacing, for a start." he smiled, affectionately. "And I've never seen your brow furrowed quite so much as it has been this week."

America nodded and stilled her feet, coming over to the desk to lean next to him, trying to mirror Maxon's pose instead. She was hoping it might help her find the composure he seemed to have in spades. She pressed her hands to her dress and smoothed out the wrinkles. "This is important, that's all. I want this Maxon, I really want this. And you know how grumpy I can become when I don't get what I want."

"I certainly do." he smiled. "But take a deep breath for me, my love. Nothing is going to be decided today. This is the most preliminary of meetings, remember?"

America remembered. "He'll laugh at us, then get angry at us… then…"

"Then shut down the meeting in a fit of frustration, most likely." Maxon nodded. "Then he'll toss and turn for the next few nights, maybe longer if it's a really difficult decision for him… and then he'll come back to us."

America sighed. "Why does it have to be so hard?"

"I suspect, if it were easy, you'd have significantly less interest in it." Maxon said, eyes glittering with amusement.

She cast him a contemptuous glance, "Be serious."

So he stood upright and turned to face her, placing a hand on each of her upper arms. "It's _hard_, because if it were easy, it wouldn't be worthy of you. Officially instituting this amendment would be a significant accomplishment, and significant accomplishments don't ever come cheaply. They will all cost you. They will all be _hard_. But I'm proud of you, America. You're an amazing woman, capable of great things, and if the fights you were picking were easy then you wouldn't be living up to your full potential as queen. As it stands, I know this country is getting everything it deserves from you because, at the end of every day, I get to hear about the battles you're waging and how hard you're fighting for my Kingdom. And I love you for it." He planted a firm kiss on her forehead.

America smiled back at him, appreciatively. Sometimes she still needed Maxon to remind her just how extraordinary she was.

"You didn't know you were marrying a crusader, did you, Max?" America teased, placing her hands on his hips, still smiling.

But he peered into her blue eyes lovingly, and his reply came without a trace of humor. "I knew." he said seriously, and then he pulled her in for a long kiss.

There was a firm knocking on the door and America felt her stomach swoop as Maxon pulled his lips off of hers. "Take a breath." he whispered. America did so. "Stand up straight." he reminded her, and she threw her shoulders back. He dropped his hands from her body and straightened his tie, facing the door and drawing himself to his full height. "Come in." he called, in his most authoritative voice.

The guards posted at either side of Maxon's office opened the doors and Stavros took three steps into the room before falling into a deep bow. "Your Majesties." he greeted, without moving. The doors behind him closed.

"Thank you for coming, Stavros." Maxon said, picking up from off of his desk a stiff black folder with the crest of Illéa printed in silver ink on the front. America knew it held the draft of their little amendment. Maxon moved to a set of settees facing each other over a handsome, rich brown coffee table next to the empty fireplace across the room and said, "Please take a seat."

Now that Stavros had been addressed directly, he straightened up from the bow and followed Maxon to the settees. They both stood there, waiting. America, as the lady in the room, would be the first to sit down. So far, this was exactly like America and Maxon had practiced.

"I'll ring for tea." America announced, and pressed the button that called for maid service. Mary knew to be on standby with a full tray of tea and cakes, and was waiting just down the hall. America crossed the room to Maxon's side, turned to face Stavros, and then took her seat. Maxon followed, then Stavros. It was all incredibly by-the-book.

"May I ask what your Majesty has called this meeting to discuss?" Stavros began, to Maxon.

"As you know," Maxon replied, his King voice several notes deeper than his Maxon voice, "the Queen and I are beginning to make preparations for the conception of a royal heir. As my chief adviser, I have asked you here today to discuss the laws of inheritance with us."

Stavros had not been expecting this. He blinked, a minuscule pause that spoke volumes. "The laws of inheritance? Certainly, as your Majesty commands. But, surely, the laws are fairly straightforward?"

"This is merely a discussion Queen America and I wanted to have before proceeding." Maxon deftly almost-lied. This was a discussion they'd wanted to have before proceeding, but there was nothing 'mere' about it.

"Of course." Stavros said, but he was still suspicious. He had every right to be, America reflected, as Mary knocked once and then walked in with the tray, effectively putting the meeting on pause.

America had, perhaps a bit tyrannically, personally overseen the assembly of this tea tray. It was one of the very last details that she could control, and though it likely wouldn't make a bit of difference to the outcome of this meeting, she hadn't been able to stop herself. "Thank you, Mary, that's all." America said, and Mary fell into a curtsey before letting herself out. "Tea, gentlemen?"

"Thank you, your Majesty." Stavros accepted. Whether he wanted it or not, he was not in a position to refuse tea with the Queen.

America poured out, passing Maxon his tea without a hint of sugar in it. There was a comforting familiarity about knowing, by heart, the way her husband took his tea. Even if they were in this intimidating, nerve-wracking meeting, and performing in their official capacities as the King and Queen of Illéa, somewhere inside, he was still her Maxon. And she knew exactly how he liked his tea.

When they all had their cups of tea and plates of cakes before them, the meeting continued.

"Stavros," Maxon said, authoritatively, "As an expert on the laws governing Illéa, would you give Her Royal Majesty the Queen and myself your considered opinion on the laws of inheritance?"

"My opinion, your Majesty?" Stavros clarified, eyes narrowing. Maxon hadn't asked for a recitation or a summarization. He'd asked for an opinion, and alarm bells were clearly ringing in Stavros' sharp mind.

"Certainly." Maxon nodded, unflinching.

Stavros took a breath, weighing his words in his mind, "The laws of inheritance are strong pillars of the monarchy, your majesty, a testament to Gregory Illéa's great wisdom and foresight. Since the forming of our proud nation, the laws of inheritance have ushered in a peaceful transition of power, via an unbroken line of Kings descended from Gregory Illéa himself, without fail or falter. It is because of the laws of inheritance that your transition into power was so seamless, and the laws of inheritance will protect your children, grandchildren, and their progeny for the rest of time."

America and Maxon shared a quick, nervous glance. She had a hard time imagining how exactly to proceed from this overly exalted view Stavros had just shared. It wasn't like she could just pipe up and say, 'So, how's about we give these strong pillars of our monarchy a good whack with the feminism stick, eh?'

"Brilliant observation, Stavros." Maxon nodded, sipping from his cup, and Stavros blushed ever so slightly at the praise. "I do want my children well-protected. A specific concern of mine is the matrimonial alliances clause, which incorporates into a princess' duty to her country, the necessity of marrying an ally of Illéa."

"It is much to ask, to be sure." Stavros tried to be sympathetic, but his tone came out mostly cautious. "We ask much of our sovereigns, and you can rest assured that Illéa is grateful for your sacrifices." It sounded like a thanks, but it was really a deft dodge of the issue at hand. Stavros had been playing this game longer than either America or Maxon had been alive. Of course he could outplay them.

"I wonder, Stavros," America finally spoke, "if this clause is not painfully outdated. As necessary as it was to solidify Gregory Illéa's creation of and ascension to the throne, we have advanced by leaps and bounds as a people. Surely it would be a show of great progress and modernity to change our views on the matrimonial alliances clause?"

"Need I remind your Majesty of how our young country still needs alliances?"

Maxon spoke, "We certainly need our allies, as staunch and close as we can have them. But, Stavros, it occurs to me that we have new methods of obtaining alliances now. Our recent alliance with Italy was negotiated and amicably agreed upon without the necessity of offering them a daughter of Illéa."

"Not entirely, your Majesty." Stavros objected. "As you will recall, their stipulation upon entering those negotiations was that you would marry then Lady America. A similar alliance with the then Northern Rebels was initiated through the same means. That is a form of matrimonial alliance, if not a conventional one. Marriage bonds are still the surest means of affirming a political alliance."

The conversation fell to silence. America sipped her tea, butterflies seizing her stomach. These were her future children they were discussing, not pawns on a chessboard. Stavros didn't see it that way, it was his job to look at the governing of this Kingdom as one big game of strategy. This was what they paid him for, Maxon had reminded America the previous night as they'd practiced this meeting yet again.

"Stavros," Maxon finally said, clearing his throat and setting his tea cup aside, "I want to be very direct with you. America and I will not be trading our daughters for political purposes. In our eyes, our daughters will be equals with our sons, and we would like that reflected in the laws of Illéa so that, as you said, our children, grandchildren, and their progeny will be protected."

America was not expecting the grin that split Stavros' face at this. The rough, entirely condescending chuckle that rattled his broad chest. "Your Majesty, that would require amending the laws of inheritance." he said it as if America and Maxon were two children who could not possibly understand the grownup world around them. If it wasn't for the dangerous glint behind his eyes, America might have thought that he found them both adorably misguided.

But Maxon just nodded, curtly. He was not thrown off by Stavros' reaction, in fact, this was exactly what Maxon had predicted. Laughter. "That is what we are proposing. We would like to amend the laws of inheritance."

The smile fell from Stavros' face in a heartbeat. He set his cup aside, too, with an air of great gravity. "I'm afraid that would be unwise, your Majesty."

"Why so?" America asked.

"The people of Illéa view arranged marriages as part of the princess' royal responsibilities. One cannot have the privilege of being princess without the responsibility it entails."

"I don't believe the people think that way anymore, Stavros." America said, boldly. "I know them rather well, having been one of them, myself, only four years ago. The people I knew saw the bartering of our women as barbaric. And our international allies agree."

Stavros' grey eyes went steely. This time, anger flashed behind them. "What do you mean by that, your Majesty?"

America thought this news would be better coming from Maxon, and he seemed to read her mind. He replied, "Italy is prepared to publicly support an amendment to the laws of inheritance that would erase the distinctions between male and female children of the King. For that matter, so are our fervent supporters, England." Maxon and America had had a tremendously successful group call with the King and Queen of England earlier that week, and in addition to being regaled with historical precedent for extremely successful hereditary queens, Maxon and America were subtly promised complete public support for any potential policy shifts reflecting acceptance of women as heirs.

"Swendway would be greatly offended, your Majesty. Katherine Illéa's union with Emil de Monpezat was the inspiration for the clause, they view it as their close tie to Illéa memorialized in our foundations. To eradicate that would be highly unwise." Stavros reminded Maxon.

"Our cousins in Swendway will understand that we are moving forward into a new era, one which will ensure prosperity for both of our nations, as well as _all_ of our children, male and female." Maxon replied, smoothly.

Stavros simply shook his head slowly. "There are ways to keep your daughters in Illéa, even to allow them the opportunity to marry for love, that need not be affirmed in the laws of the land."

"The only way to guarantee their protection," America objected, "Is to set it in stone. Let there be no confusion, not by anyone, anywhere. Our daughters will devote their lives to Illéa, and by extension, its allies; but they will be afforded the same freedoms we offer our sons. That will not be infringed upon on the basis of their gender."

Stavros frowned and leant back into the cushy settee, looking back and forth between America and Maxon. There was definite anger in his voice this time. "What you are suggesting, an _equalizer_, would have the force and effect of putting a _girl_ on the throne of Illéa, if she was born first. Do you realize that? To banish away the distinctions between princes and princesses would mean that a _girl_ could be orchestrating wars, levying taxes, and determining social policy for an entire _generation_."

America's eyes narrowed and glinted, "Girls and boys are not permitted to rule countries, Stavros, that's what regents are for. The law clearly states that the heir to the throne does not ascend until he or, in the event there is only one child and she is a female, she is in his or her twenties. So what we are talking about here is a _woman_ on the throne. A _woman_ orchestrating wars, levying taxes, and determining social policy for an entire generation. Do you have some evidence to suggest that a Queen is any less capable of successfully managing these tasks than a King may be?"

"Certainly not." Stavros backpedaled quickly, even bowing his head slightly in deference to America, "But, your Majesty, you must understand… it is not the done thing."

Not the done thing.

That's exactly what Maxon had said the first time America brought up this change in the safe room three weeks before.

"Oh, but it is." America disagreed. "Women have been ascending to thrones and successfully ruling countries for all of recorded history. Empress Matilda, the daughter of Henry the first of England successfully held her ground during a brutal civil war and even counseled her son, Henry II, once he ascended the contested throne." America was grateful, then, for their allies in England. The English had great universities, which meant they still had access to books, many of them full of history. They could remember events like this, and learn from them. "Elizabeth the First of England—"

"Your Majesty, if I may interrupt, I understand what you are trying to illustrate and your point is well taken." Stavros said, impatiently. "But, with all due respect, the _people_ don't know about the Empress Matilda, nor Elizabeth the First. The people will not understand this change in royal duties, and will not trust it. They won't support a woman ascending their throne, not if there is a perfectly healthy man waiting in line behind her."

"I believe they would support any child of Maxon's." America said, defiantly. "They love him."

"Yes, his Majesty is well loved by many of his people," Stavros nodded, "but there is a limit, Lady America. He is instituting changes faster than many of them can keep up, and there is only so far that they will trust him before calling into question his judgement. At some point there will be a straw to break the camel's back, and this could very well be it. The last thing we need right now is to call into question the laws dictating succession."

"Why shouldn't we update the laws, Stavros?" Maxon asked. "We are a strong and independent nation now."

Stavros collected his thoughts. "First, as I mentioned, your Majesty, we need allies. The New Asians will be expecting first pick—"

"First pick?" America's eyebrows flew up her forehead. "I'm sorry, but there is no way I am shipping them their _pick_ of my daughters."

"Your Majesty—" Stavros objected.

"_Never_." America said, forcefully, and Stavros swallowed the rest of his objection with a frustrated huff.

"Then we are treading dangerous ground with Swendway and the New Asians." Stavros declared. "But even more importantly, King Maxon, you derive your power from a consensus of the people. You are their sovereign because they allow you to be. You are not, as past monarchies were, 'chosen by God' to rule Illéa, you claim no divine right to rule. If you call into question your son's right to rule over your daughter's, then you call into question your right to rule over just about anyone else's. If the laws governing succession are seen as wishy-washy, then why are you allowed to rule at all? Why not someone else? Why even a monarchy, for that matter?"

"Stavros, if my people don't want me on the throne, I have no business being there." Maxon said, objectively.

"Noble, your Majesty, but wrong-headed. Your presence on this throne means stability and peace for the country. If you were to step down or lend credence to the anti-monarchists, there would be nothing short of a civil war to determine the fate of Illéa. Thousands upon thousands would die, Illéans slaying other Illéans on Illéan soil, worse than the New Asian war ever was. More costly, in terms of lives and resources. Illéa _needs_ you on this throne, King Maxon."

America gulped. She and Maxon had not discussed that this amendment could lead to an Illéan civil war. She took a deep breath, "I don't believe that amending the laws of inheritance would lead to an attempt to end Maxon's reign. Maxon is a strong leader, he is fair and generous and if the people of Illéa had a room full of 35 men to select their future king from, they would choose Maxon every time." America said, fiercely. "Maxon is a great king, and nothing small like an amendment to a law could threaten his mighty reign." She wondered if she hadn't overdone it slightly with the last part, but one look at Maxon told her she'd done it perfectly. He was gazing at her with amazement, surprise, and a little bit of embarrassment. She'd made him blush, in the middle of a session with one of his royal advisers. She smiled just a little bit at her power.

"Perhaps you have a point, Queen America," Stavros said, still shaking his head. "Those opinions can be tested in polls and research, perhaps the people would not question King Maxon, nor his reign. But even so, a daughter? A daughter, growing up before the people's eyes, training in the arts of military and diplomacy and finance?"

"Yes, Stavros?" America asked, daring him to say that a woman couldn't master those arts.

Stavros wasn't going to fall for that trap. "Illéa needs strong, commanding leadership right now. They will not seek to find that in a young princess clad in dresses."

"Then she'll wear pants." America said, through clenched teeth.

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it?" America asked. "Isn't your point that women are too delicate to handle the jobs historically associated with the King of Illéa?"

"No." Stavros said, challengingly. "My point is that they don't_ look_ it. A princess won't _look_ powerful enough to the people, and the people's confidence is _where the monarchy derives its authority_. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"So this is a simple matter of aesthetics?" America asked, stunned.

"Of course it is." Stavros said. "Almost everything you do as Queen involves aesthetics, your Majesty, you of all people should know their importance." America felt as if she was being chastised by a disappointed school teacher. "Think of the Selection, for example. By granting princesses the same privileges and responsibilities as princes, you would be setting Illéa up for the potential of a Selection featuring one girl dating thirty-five men."

America blinked. "Yes?"

"One girl dating and kissing, posing flirtatiously with, cosying up to thirty five young men." Stavros repeated.

America didn't understand, but Maxon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well?" America asked, annoyed that she was the only one missing the problem.

Stavros breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes, unable to believe that he had to spell it out for her, "Think of how it would _look_."

"How it would look?" America asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"It's… _unseemly_ for a lady to carry on with so many gentlemen—"

"Oh my God!" America said, realization striking her heart like a hot poker.

"America—" Maxon warned, but she barely heard him.

"_Unseemly_?" America demanded of Stavros, "You mean _slutty_." She leapt to standing in a fit of rage and due to protocol, Stavros was forced to stand with her.

"Your Majesty, I would never!" Stavros defended.

She did not even hear him. America was pacing back and forth between the settees, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating wildly. "So it's perfectly fine for a young man to cavort with 35 women at once because he's demonstrating leadership and carefully choosing the next Queen of Illéa? But when it's a woman dating 35 men at once, she's just a _slut_?!"

"America, that's enough." Maxon said, firmly. "Sit back down."

She wanted to throw the nearest lamp right at Stavros' head. Instead, she clamped her mouth closed and practically flopped back into her seat, audibly huffing as she did so. She glared daggers at Stavros and hoped they'd frighten him a little.

"I apologize for offending your Majesty," Stavros said, retaking his seat, "But it had to be said. Perception is everything to this monarchy." Stavros looked between the two reigning monarchs with a frustrated frown. America got the distinct impression that he was about to assign them both detention. "Perhaps it would be wise to end this meeting here, for today?"

"Thank you, Stavros." Maxon said, and America could have strangled her husband right then and there. Murdered him with her own two hands. Thank you? For being the worlds most offensive sexist? "Queen America and I have drafted a potential amendment that we would like for you to take with you when you go. It is for your eyes only, obviously. Your feedback would be most welcome."

"Of course, your Majesty."

"And I would like for you to have the researchers put a poll in the field. Something about whether or not the people would embrace a change that would equate princes and princesses, they can sort out the exact wording."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Poll from all of the castes, not just the top four. Poll all over the country. I want opinion research, too. What would people _actually_ think about a princess taking over for me, about an all male selection, about all of it. If this is a battle that can be won through public opinion, then let's win it, Stavros. For my girls."

"Yes, your Majesty." Stavros nodded, but he was not convinced. He was only being deferent.

Maxon stood, and Stavros followed. America stood as well, and stepped back. Maxon passed Stavros the black, crested folder which contained the amendment. "Thank you for your time and your careful consideration, Stavros, as well as for your discretion." Maxon escorted Stavros to the door. "Be in touch soon with your thoughts and the research findings?" Maxon requested.

"Of course, your Majesty." Stavros said, then he turned and bowed to America, then bowed a little deeper towards Maxon, and then he left the room.

Maxon closed the door firmly, then turned to look at America all the way on the other side of the room from him. America wondered if he wanted her to say that she was sorry for losing her famous temper, but before she could refuse to apologize for her indignation, Maxon said, "I _know_. It's awful." He sighed and leant back against the door, "You did very well, America."

"No, I didn't." America shook her head. "You're saying that to make me feel better for rightfully losing my temper with Stavros."

"I'm not." Maxon shook his head, opening his arms to her. It was a long walk to get to those arms, but it was worth the journey when he wrapped her in a tight embrace. "You made very valid, well-reasoned points. Even your outrage at the Selection thing was rational… if not exactly professional in its critique."

America sighed with relief and felt herself melting into Maxon's embrace. "Do you think he'll come around? Advise us to go forward with the law?"

"I don't know." Maxon said into her hair. "I think it depends on what those opinion polls turn up. If you know the people as well as you think you do, then maybe he will. Maybe they'll say, 'We don't care what you do! We're too busy with our own lives! Just live and be happy!' and Stavros will come skipping back in here with an official amendment for me to sign."

America laughed a little at this, and so did Maxon. "Thank you, Maxon."

"For?"

"Believing in this as strongly as I do." she said, earnestly.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her hair in reply and then pulled back, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"Which part?"

"About my being a strong leader, and fair, and generous, and much too powerful for some stupid amendment to bring me down?"

"Of course I did!" America smiled, looking up at him.

Maxon sniffed a little, looking into her eyes, "You have no idea how much it means to me, to hear you say that."

"Why? I tell you how wonderful you are all the time."

"But in front of Stavros?" Maxon shook his head and swallowed heavily. "All my father ever said about me in front of Stavros was that I was _weak_. It was his biggest complaint, actually, how _weak_ I was. No one ever called me 'strong' before you."

America placed a hand on Maxon's cheek and stroked his cheek bone with her thumb, "You _are_ strong, Maxon. You are strong and smart and dedicated, you are kind and loving and funny. For some reason or another, your father was blind to all of that." Maxon's eyes fell from hers and she leant even closer to recapture them. "It was his loss, Maxon. It was _his_ loss. You are a _good_ man, and a good husband. And you are a great king. And I love you."

She was sure he would have said 'I love you, too', if his mouth hadn't been so busy capturing hers.


	7. Chapter 7

As inconceivable and frustrating as it was to America, she had to go right back to work on the rest of her projects the morning after their meeting with Stavros. All she wanted to do was pace the floor in her room and wait for Stavros' decision. But, a public school system wasn't going to design and implement itself, the palace egg roll was only halfway planned, and after the talk with Stavros last night, Maxon requested that America schedule in a meeting with Elise.

Elise, for her part, was now happily married to a two from Clermont whom she'd first met at the memorial service for Celeste. Her parents were thrilled with the match, and America was fascinated by it. Elise had once mentioned that she'd spent her whole life expecting and even looking forward to an arranged marriage, but now here she was, married for love and to a vocal critic of the monarchy, no less. Rolph Lemex was a major advocate for an unrestricted press in Illéa. He staunchly believed that information should be freely available to all of the people of Illéa, regardless of caste, as a public commodity. 'Public Commodity' was still a concept America and Maxon were working on institutionalizing in Illéa, as they'd never really had public commodities before. But if America could get the school system off the ground and maybe put a dent in libraries, then she and Rolph Lemex could have a real discussion about lifting the press restrictions in Illéa. She, Rolph, Elise, and Gavril could have a field day working on that project together.

But today, Elise was here because her family had been given a position and title of great honor in New Asia over the last year, and Maxon was in the process of formalizing Elise as one of his chief New Asian advisers. America was strongly in favor of this for many reasons, Elise was smart, capable, loyal, and soft spoken. That last part would come in handy in a room full of loud, outspoken men, most of whom had been Clarkson's advisers before Maxon took over. While they might be busy shouting each other down, Elise would sit still and listen, and when the moment arrived, speak up. Maxon may not have experienced much of Elise's 'backbone' when they'd been dating, but America knew just how clever and sharp Elise could be.

Not to mention, America was just a little bit ecstatic at the idea of Maxon having his first female adviser.

So, America spent her morning with Silvia choosing color patterns and designing invitations to the Palace egg roll, met Maxon for a quick lunch in his office as part of his vow to spend more time with her, and then hurried down to greet Elise as she arrived at the palace.

They walked, arm-in-arm, back up to America's office where Mary already had tea waiting for them. America got comfortable in an armchair by the fireplace and Elise joined her after helping herself to tea and muffins.

"How's Rolph?" America asked, smiling.

"Still loudly and publicly wondering when you'll start allowing someone other than Gavril Fadaye access to the royal family." Elise smirked.

America chuckled, "Gavril is a public institution!"

"So's the monarchy, and Rolph believes it should be examined as thoroughly, and by as many eyes, as possible."

"Between you and me, I agree." America winked at Elise.

"He knew you would. That's one of the reasons he wanted you to win the Selection so badly."

"What?" America laughed outright. "He wasn't rooting for _you_?"

"Nah. He thought I was beautiful, but I didn't really let the people get to know me like you did. I was just a pretty face and a dress until we met in-person."

"I like your husband more and more, every time we talk about him." America grinned. She and Maxon had had Rolph and Elise over for dinner once, and it had been magnificent. Rolph spent most of the time very respectfully challenging the traditions of the Palace and America had spent most of the time quelling her laughter as Maxon had to defend himself and the institution he'd been born into.

Elise grinned and took a long drink of tea. "Well, America? I'm here. What's going on?"

America sighed. Direct. Elise was direct. That's another excellent trait for a royal adviser to have. "Well, I think Maxon has some papers for you to sign in his office, you'll need to do that before you leave. That's the official reason." It was true. The creation of a brand new adviser in the King's council required an absurd amount of paperwork.

"Unofficially?" Elise asked, curiously. Patiently. Patient, Elise was patient. America sighed. There was a lot she could learn from Elise

"Unofficially, Maxon and I need your counsel about something." America stared down at her hands, nervously. She wanted a good answer from Elise. She needed a truthful answer, but she wanted a good answer. She hoped she'd get both.

"You have my attention, America."

America nodded and took a deep breath. "Maxon and I have been working on a little side project, the details of which I can't really go into. But, what you need to know is that we would like to remove the restrictions that would require our daughters to forge diplomatic marriages when they come of age. We want them to have the same privileges our sons would have, specifically the option to marry for love."

Elise sighed heavily. She understood the merits of both sides of the marriage arrangement argument. She'd married for love and didn't regret a moment of it, but she also had a deep respect for arranged marriages where love could grow later. "I understand, America."

"We at least want to give them the option to choose for themselves. We wouldn't refuse them a diplomatic marriage if that's what they really wanted." America clarified. "We just want them to be able to decide for themselves, that doesn't seem so unreasonable."

"No, it doesn't." Elise agreed, hesitantly.

"But... New Asia is expecting us to hand one over, isn't it?"

Elise shook her head a little at the phrasing, but she didn't rush to deny the claim. "It's been a long time since Illéa had a daughter to give. They aren't expecting you to perform a magic trick and produce one if it's not possible for some reason. But, if you do have a daughter... yes, there has been some talk of the expectation that you would offer a marriage to them. To further solidify the peace treaty."

America sighed heavily. "And how bad is it, if we have a daughter and we don't offer her to them?"

"Well, that depends." Elise said. "Arranged marriages are viewed very differently in New Asian culture. They are viewed with more respect and importance than love matches. It could be viewed as insulting that you would refuse such an honorable diplomatic match in favor of a less honorable love match. It could also be viewed as a sign of Illéa's immaturity and recklessness. But, so long as you weren't offering her to anyone else before them, I doubt they would view it as an attempt to, say, embarrass them on an international scale."

America breathed out slowly. "That would never be our intention."

"No." Elise nodded. "The cultural differences can be explained and there are other steps you could take... signs of respect. Gifts, or seating arrangements at summits. There are ways to show them that they are important to Illéa without necessarily trading them a daughter."

"Good." America said. "We might really need your help with that, Elise."

"That's what I'll be here for." Elise smiled. "But I cannot emphasize enough that you can't place another country ahead of New Asia for a marriage."

"We're not marrying off our daughters to any country, it's not specifically New Asia that we're spurning." America assured her. "We really are just trying to give our girls their chance at finding what Maxon and I have. What you and Rolph have, for that matter. And it's all theoretical, at this point. We have no idea how many children we'll have, or how many of those will be girls. I could end up with a palace full of boys, who knows."

"But you want to be ready, just in case." Elise nodded, understandingly.

"Exactly."

"I can help you manage the New Asians, when the time comes." Elise promised.

America was about to thank her when a loud blaring sound rang out from the hallway. The rebel alarm.

Elise looked to America for direction.

"Maxon's office." America said, jumping out of her chair and leading the way.

It had been nearly three weeks since the last rebel attack, and America had secretly been hoping that there would never be another again. Logically, she knew that wasn't likely, but still, she had been hoping.

For some reason, there was no direct access to the royal safe room in the Queen's office. The only access point on this floor was built into what was now the King's office, right next door, and America supposed the Queen was just expected to risk the journey over.

Elise was close on her heals as America dashed out the door of her office and turned left, sprinting towards Maxon's office. The guards on this floor were all running to their official posts, passing along orders from their captains, and America was so distracted by trying to hear what they were saying, and if any of it sounded deadly, that she almost ran right into her husband.

"Maxon! What are you doing?" America chastised. "Get to the safe room! Now!"

"I had to come and get you." Maxon explained, looking a little panicked.

"Like we'd get lost?" America asked, exasperated. Now she was leading all three of them towards the office doors just down the hall from hers. She held the doors open and Maxon and Elise passed through, then she slammed the doors shut and locked them with the key in Maxon's desk while Maxon removed a strategic book from his enormous bookshelf and the passage to the safe room was revealed.

Elise went down first, and Maxon waited for America to cross the threshold to the dark, narrow staircase before closing the bookshelf behind them. America could hear Maxon's steps behind her, and she watched Elise carefully navigate her way down without pulling an America and falling on her face. Well, shoulder.

When they were securely ensconced in the safe room, Elise took a tactful seat on the other side of the room to allow Maxon and America a moment together.

"Are you alright?" America asked, searching Maxon's brown eyes carefully. He was still panicking.

"Fine."

"No, Maxon, I mean _are you alright_?" She could see that he wasn't hurt. She wanted to know what else was happening.

"I just..." he paused, took a frustrated breath, and said, "I was in security meetings all morning. I thought, for sure, we had this under control. What kind of king am I if I can't even protect my wife in our own home?"

"Hey." America said, gently, "I'm safe. See? We're safe. I'm protected."

Maxon was slightly mollified by this, and he gave her a little nod. "I wish I could make this stop."

"Someday." America breathed. "But until then, you are doing everything you can possibly do to keep me safe, and it's working. I'm still here." she waved a little at him and he smiled back at her, genuinely. "But Maxon? You're the King of Illéa. When that rebel alarm sounds, you need to get yourself to the safe room as quickly as possible." Maxon just looked back at her with those lost, warm brown eyes of his and the thought clicked in America's mind. "But I'm all you have left?" she asked, remembering their last trip to the safe room.

Maxon nodded, "Yes."

America shook her head a little, heart breaking for how terrified of losing her he was. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Not for much longer." She didn't think having more people to take care of would necessarily help Maxon relax, but maybe having another family member would help relieve this 'all eggs in one basket' anxiety he was struggling with. She kissed his cheek, gently wiped her lipstick away with her thumb, and then took his hand to lead him over to where Elise was sitting.

"We never hear about these on the _Report_." Elise said. It was a veiled and gentle criticism. If her Rolph had his way, coverage of the happenings at the palace would be much more open.

"We like to avoid inciting panic, and there haven't been too many attacks." America replied. "It's almost like the reforms Maxon and I started implementing after the coronation sucked a lot of the fight out of the rebels."

"Ending the New Asian war helped." Maxon said. "Once we were no longer drafting their young men, and with dismantling the castes and making the food assistance program a permanent endeavor, the rebels who were fighting out of desperation lost much of their cause. They went home and resumed their lives, our intel suggests. They're not exactly fond of the monarchy, but they're not so desperate that they'll risk their lives to bring it down."

"Well, that's really good news." Elise smiled, weakly. 'Really good' was a stretch, but it was a step in the right direction.

"The ones who are left, though..." Maxon looked over at America grimly. They'd discussed the rebels often enough, but he was clearly about to bring up a new concern. "They were always the most dangerous to begin with. They're tough fighters, ruthless killers... and there's no way to appease them that doesn't involve my head on a spike."

America swallowed, hard. She should have realized that only the most dedicated rebels would still be so devoted to wrecking them. That explained why the attacks had grown so infrequent, the rebels lacked the numbers they once had. And now, there were no moderate voices left amongst their numbers to temper their actions. No one was left to say, 'hey, maybe instead of murdering King Maxon in his sleep, we just scare him into abdicating-'. Only the true killers remained.

"What about their funding?" America asked, determined not to let this news hurt her.

"The Loyalists, you mean?" Maxon asked.

"Yes. Is there any way we can appease them?"

Maxon leant back in his tall chair and frowned, "Nothing we'd really consider. I mentioned the problem to Eoan on a call last week." Eoan was the King of England. He and his wife, Waverly, were not just allies of Illéa, they were close personal friends with Maxon. Eoan and Maxon had grown up seeing each other at affairs of state. Along with Daphne, Eoan had been one of Maxon's closest friends throughout childhood. They remained close now, unlike Maxon and Daphne, mostly because Eoan had never tried to convince Maxon to marry him.

"What did he say?"

"He said that whenever they encounter a similar problem, they throw aristocratic titles at the problem to see if it goes away."

"We couldn't do that, could we?" America asked, furrowing her brow.

"I won't rule it out, if it means choking off a large chunk of funding for the rebel fighters." Maxon said.

"Illéa's never had an aristocratic class before. We don't do 'lords' and 'ladies'. Even in the old days, the United States never had them." America objected.

Elise was the one to reply, "But we have had castes. Being a '2' was just as good as being a 'lord' or a 'lady'. 2's are peripherally famous like lords and ladies, get invited to palace events and royal weddings like lords and ladies. What's the difference, really?"

Maxon nodded, "And when Gregory Illéa instituted the caste system, he rewarded his most fervent supporters by making them 2's. That's no different than rewarding supporters of the Crown with titles."

America saw his point, but she still didn't like it. "These aren't supporters of the Crown, Maxon, these people are guilty of treason."

"Keep your friends close..." Maxon said, gravely. So this was about keeping his enemies closer. America didn't like the idea of any of these monsters getting anywhere near Maxon, but she understood his reasoning.

"I don't know, Maxon, it sounds a lot like rewarding bad behavior, to me."

"I know what you mean." He was frowning. "We're slated to discuss it in council this Friday. If we go forward with outlining an aristocratic system, I'll make sure you're at that meeting."

America nodded and took his hand, lifting it to her lips for a kiss.

Elise just smiled and looked between the two of them. "You two have _got_ to move freeing the press up on your agenda."

"Why?" America asked, leaving her hand laced with Maxon's and resting it in her lap.

"Because people should really know how well the two of you work together. That could do big things for your approval ratings."

America raised her eyebrows, surprised, and then looked to Maxon. He was looking right back at her. They were both thinking the same thing. Public approval was _exactly_ what they needed to support their amendment. Maybe they'd be making use of Elise's husband sooner than they'd thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Maxon was consumed with the fallout from the rebel attack for the rest of the week. Clean up was a nightmare, a dozen funerals had to be arranged with honor guards for the palace guards who died at the hands of the rebels, and posthumous medals were to be awarded to their families by America at a ceremony at the Palace. She was the one who'd started that particular tradition, and though it was cathartic and necessary, it was a grim task. It was hard to look the mothers and the wives and the children in the eyes and to honor their sacrifice with medals, like those were in any way a sufficient trade for the lives of their lost loved ones.

To make matters worse, Stavros still hadn't made a decision one way or another on the amendment to the laws of inheritance. Every night America waited up until Maxon finally stumbled in from his last meeting. The first few nights she'd anxiously asked him, before the guards could even close the doors behind him, "Any word from Stavros?". But Maxon knew what that look on her face meant now, and she didn't even have to ask him anymore. Now, every time he walked through his bedroom doors and his eyes met hers he said, apologetically, "No news from Stavros. Sorry, Love."

The anxiety was about to drive America to a mental breakdown. Every time the phone rang, every time a note was passed to her on a silver tray, every time Maxon sought her out during the day for some purpose or other, her heart practically burst, so sure that it was news, that Stavros had passed down a decision.

It was a Saturday night, four days after the rebel attack, but Maxon didn't make it back to his bedroom until just after midnight. He was exhausted, the poor thing. That was the first thing America noticed about him from where she sat, perched on the edge of his bed, waiting anxiously. He had dark rings around his eyes and his hair was mussed to the point of absurdity. The moment he laid eyes on her he said, exhaustion seeping through his voice, "No news from Stavros. Sorry, Love."

Instead of her usual exasperated sigh or frustrated launch into pacing at the foot of his bed, she said, "That's not what I want to talk to you about."

"No?" he barely had the energy to be surprised as he struggled to remove his tie. America walked right up to him and took it into her hands, looking up into his eyes as she undid the knot, then unbuttoned his stiff blue shirt.

"There's something else." America said.

"What is it?"

"I have sent a notice out to your advisers." she announced, taking care to brush her fingertips all the way up each of his exposed forearms as she carefully unrolled his sleeves. He lived for those little caresses.

"A notice?"

"One of the major projects you are supposed to be working on right now is producing a royal heir, isn't that right?"

He smiled a little, "Yes, it is."

"How are you supposed to do that, exactly, when your advisers monopolize you for 18 hours every day? If they want this project completed on schedule, they're going to have to relinquish their hold on you."

"Is that so?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? I'm not decrypting a lost language, am I? This shouldn't blow any minds. You and I have to be awake, and in the same room at the same time to make a baby." she peeled his shirt off of his body and let it fall to the floor. Then she pulled his undershirt over his head and went to work on his belt.

"So what did your notice say?"

"That I'm commandeering you."

"Like a military operation?"

"Mhmm. You're mine, effective immediately."

"I wish it worked that way, my love." He said, wistfully.

"Oh, but it does." America smiled. "I'm keeping you until Wednesday. We're going to do all of the things we like to talk about doing and never get around to. We're seeing a movie downstairs and slow dancing on our spot on the roof, we're having a picnic at our bench in the gardens, and you and I are both going to spend a whole day with my family at the house just being normal."

"Ames," Maxon said, regretfully, "I have intelligence meetings twice a day, and defense meetings four times a day. I've got a budget proposal to put together and statistics to review. I'm trying to plan for a summit between all of our allied nations to get New Asia at the table with the rest of the world—"

"Maxon?"

"Yes?"

"Do your advisers want the Illéan monarchy to crumble into dust?"

"No."

"They're not secretly out to bring down the government?"

"No."

"Then they will make do without you while you and I make a baby, literally propagating the Illéan monarchy, and in so doing enjoy the tiniest, least demanding vacation in the history of vacations. You'll be in the building, most of the time, in case Nicoletta gets bored and decides to invade. Honestly, it's the least they could do to ensure the continued prosperity of the Illéan Crown, don't you think?"

Maxon sighed, placing his hands over hers and bringing them from his now empty belt loops to his lips. "You're persuasive, America, I'll give you that."

"I'm more than persuasive, Maxon." She said, going up on tiptoe and wrapping her arms around his neck. She leant in to his right ear and softly said, "I always get what I want."

He smiled at that undeniable fact and then pressed his lips to the dip where her jaw met her ear. "And what do you want right now?" Maxon asked, suggestively.

"Right now? I want us to go to my room."

"Why?" he asked, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in.

"Because, it's _my _room." America looked up at him and grinned. "If anyone comes looking for you, they'll never think to find you in _my_ room. I can hide you under my sheets and no one will ever find you and we can stay there, together, forever."

"Sounds realistic." he laughed.

"Come on." America took his hand and dragged him after her. "We're going to pretend that the floor is the ocean and my bed is the boat and we're lost at sea together."

Maxon was genuinely confused by this, "Why?"

"Why?" America asked, turning back to look at him. Then she realized, "You never had any brothers or sisters… this game would be much less fun if you're pretending to be trapped on a boat all alone." She winced at the thought. "Okay, come on. I'll teach you." she promised, leading him through the adjoining door to her room.

"You'll teach me?" Maxon was deeply amused.

"Mhmm. You'll need to practice this game so that you don't embarrass yourself in front of our children when they ask you to play it with them." she leapt onto her bed, then motioned for him to follow. "Okay, now. We've just survived a massive shipwreck, and we're at sea in a little boat, just the two of us. And we can't leave the bed, which is our boat, or the sharks will eat us."

"Oh my, we don't want that." Maxon laughed, slipping off his socks, shoes, and his pants and stacking them neatly on her piano bench.

"Maxon!" America chastised. "The sharks are chewing your ankles as we speak, hurry up!"

"I apologize, my dear." he hurriedly joined her on her bed.

"Your _what_?"

"My… dearly adored wife. Is what I was going to say, but you cut me off." Maxon pretended, chuckling tiredly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not above shoving you back into the water."

"Please don't." Maxon said, with a little pout. "I'll be good."

America sighed, nodding. "I suppose, as you're the only other human being for thousands of nautical miles, I should make my peace with you."

"That might be wise." he agreed, laying down on her bed backwards, his feet by the ornate headboard, and his head at the foot of the bed.

"You look sleepy, castaway." America said, tracing his face with her finger.

"Well, it was an _exhausting_ shipwreck, you know."

"I remember." She said, laying down next to him and leaning over him. Her red hair fell like a wavy curtain around his face. "But, luckily, we're just two normal people and definitely not the King or Queen of anything. So we can afford to spend a few days lost at sea."

"It is quite the luxury, considering how hungry the sharks circling our boat look."

"Mhmm. I fed them Stavros, though, so that should hold them over for a while." Maxon laughed, softly. America pressed a kiss to those smiling lips, then laid back down and pushed her hair to the side so that it was splayed away from her, out of their way. "Well, I don't think the hurricane is supposed to hit until tomorrow, so we can probably get some sleep now."

"There's a hurricane?" Maxon asked, without opening his eyes, though his eyebrows rose.

"Well, sometimes it's a tsunami, and sometimes it's a whirlpool. But this time, I think it'll be a hurricane."

"Mmm." he was fading quickly now.

"Shall I tell you about our normal lives before being cast away?"

"Please."

"Well, you're Max." she traced patterns on his chest with her finger. "And I'm Mer. We live in a three bedroom house with a big backyard. And we have three daughters. Ella, Nelly, and Faye. And you have a very boring desk job where you go from nine to five, Monday through Friday."

"I'm a three?" he whispered. He'd lost the use of his voice, this close to sleep.

"No, there are no castes." America shook her head. "You just have that job, it's just your job where you work. And all the rest of the time, you and I are together."

"With our girls?" he rasped.

"Mhmm. And I teach piano to the kids in the neighborhood. And every night, after we put the kids to bed, we have boring conversations about bills and home repairs. Every weekend you mow the yard and we go grocery shopping and sometimes you and I have a date night. We leave the kids with my mom and we go out dancing or to dinner, or maybe to see a movie. Just Max and Mer."

Maxon's deep, steady breathing told her that she'd talked him to sleep. Hopefully, she thought as she closed her eyes and settled in, he'd have dreams about oceans and children and desk jobs with weekends, instead of his usual tormented somnolence.

America awoke the next morning to a hushed curse. Maxon had stubbed his toe on her piano bench.

"What time is it?" she yawned, rolling over and stretching without opening her eyes. It took her a moment to remember why she was laying backwards in her bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you, my love. I'm sorry." Maxon came over and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "I've got a meeting in half an hour, I need to go and get ready for it." he sounded regretful. "But thank you for last night. That was the best bedtime story I've ever had, it's been a long time since I've slept so soundly, and I can't wait to play 'castaways' with you again soon."

America yawned and snuggled into his vacated side of the bed. It was still warm from his body and it smelled like him. "They won't be there."

"Who won't?" Maxon asked, and America felt the bed shift as Maxon stood.

"Whoever you're meeting with. They won't be there. I commandeered you, remember?"

She could almost hear him wistfully shaking his head at her. "I'll see you at lunch, America." he said, giving her one more forehead kiss before disappearing into his room.

America shrugged and drifted back to sleep. It wasn't her fault that he didn't believe her. Ten or twenty minutes later, it was hard to tell exactly how long she'd been unconscious, Mary came in with a cart of breakfast food, throwing open the curtains to let the pale blue light in. The dawn had barely broken.

"Did you pass the King, Mary?" America mumbled, stretching and slowly waking herself up.

"No, ma'am." Mary said. "The word is that he's already in the conference room, waiting on his first meeting."

America smirked. "He does like to be overly-prepared." She sat up and turned around to face her personal maid, the head of the Queen's staff, and one of her closest confidants. "How do I look?"

"Radiant. But shall I brush you up a little, since we have a minute?"

"Mhmm." America smiled, leaping from bed and crossing over to her vanity. Mary brushed and spritzed America's hair until it once again fell in soft waves down her back. Then she applied a thin layer of makeup, just enough to perfectly even out her skin tone and enhance her bright blue eyes.

Mary dabbed a hint of perfume behind America's ears and lightly on her wrists, "I think we're done here, what do you think, your Majesty?"

"I think," America breathed, looking herself over in the mirror, "that you have just performed a great service to your country, Mary. And if our heir is conceived this morning, it will all be thanks to you."

Mary giggled and blushed at that, "You'd better get back into bed, ma'am."

"Yes, we must play this as nonchalant as we can." America agreed, returning to the foot of her bed. Mary pushed the breakfast tray within arm's length and then poured America a glass of orange juice.

"Will that be all, your Majesty?"

"Yes, Mary. I'll be sure to ring if I need anything else. Thank you."

Mary curtsied and left.

Now America had nothing to do but enjoy her breakfast and wait. It didn't take too long.

Maxon appeared in her doorway a minute later looking dazed and confused. "No one came." he said, unable to believe the words coming from his own mouth.

America tried to look surprised but couldn't fight her own amusement, "You're _joking_."

"America! None of my royal advisers showed up to our morning briefing!" he was trying to get her to appreciate the urgency of the situation.

America simply looked back at him, placidly. "Toast?" she offered, gesturing to the extra slices on her breakfast cart.

"America." Maxon said, sternly, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Now I have to call all of my advisers and reschedule my whole day—"

"No, you don't." America said, firmly. "They were following an order from the Queen of Illéa, that's why they're not in the conference room right now, and that's why they're going to be leaving you alone until Thursday morning. I have you through Wednesday, Maxon. We're going to be attending to some very specific royal duties and… Do you realize that you haven't take me on a real date since the _Selection_?"

Maxon considered this. "Well, maybe not in the same _way_—"

"No, Maxon, not in any way. We haven't wandered the gardens or danced on the roof or seen a movie together, not once, not since I won your stupid contest and you sent the competition home."

Maxon sighed, heavily, realizing that she was right. He gave her a long look. "I've been neglecting my wife, is that what you're telling me?"

"Not a single vacation since our honeymoon, Maxon Schreave." America said. She wasn't guilting him with her tone, she was merely stating the fact.

"And you've somehow wrangled every last one of my advisers into allowing this?"

"I convinced them that it was their solemn duty to give us this time." America said.

Her words from last night came back to him. "You always get what you want?"

"One way or another." America grinned.

"You know, America, you really need to be pregnant by Thursday or this is all going to be an extremely embarrassing waste of official time." Maxon said, anxiously.

"Maxon?"

"Yes?"

"What am I doing right now?"

"Eating breakfast on the edge of your bed."

"I'm not in the dining room like I usually would be, am I?"

"No."

"No." She agreed. "I'm in my bed, still in my night dress, there's enough food on this cart to last well into the afternoon, both of our schedules are completely free and clear for the next four days, and no one is allowed onto this floor of the Palace without our express permission. Honey, if I'm not pregnant by Thursday, it's not going to be for lack of effort on my part."

She watched the grin slowly spread across his face, the laughter slowly rumble from his chest as he replayed her words in his mind. Finally, he threw off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, crossing the room to her in three quick strides.

"I believe you mentioned toast?" he jumped on to the bed, sitting next to her, and she leant over and kissed him, firmly. She felt the exact moment that he caught of a whiff of the perfume behind her ear because his breathing hitched and after that he seemed to melt into the embrace. One of his hands found its way to the nape of her neck, twisting the soft waves of her hair through his fingers. She placed one of her hands on his neck, the closest piece of bare skin available to her due to the presence of his stiff, starched suit shirt. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingertips. He leant back, looking into her eyes, then studying her face. "Toast can wait." he finally determined.

"Yes, it can." America nodded in agreement, fingers going to work on unbuttoning his shirt at the exact same moment that his lips went to work on her collarbone.


	9. Chapter 9

America sat distractedly in the Women's Room, in the middle of the Monday morning rundown with Silvia, trying to pay attention while being updated on the progress of their various projects. Silvia was complimenting America on her décor choices for the imminently impending Palace egg roll, even though Silvia, herself, had been heavily involved in almost all of the decisions. They were just about to move on to an international summit Maxon had asked them to investigate the possibility of hosting when a maid named Esther walked in carrying a silver tray with a note folded in half, resting atop it.

Esther curtsied deeply and then approached America, and Silvia had to struggle to contain her annoyance at the disruption. Surely nothing in the world was so important as a potential seating arrangement for a potential state dinner.

America took the note and Esther stayed at attention, awaiting America's reply.

America read the note, instantly recognizing Maxon's handwriting.

'_Stavros wants a meeting at our earliest convenience. Tugging my ear to discuss, will be in the library until lunch. __— __M__'_

They were both refugees fleeing their offices for the time being. Following the rebel attack when Maxon had risked his life and therefore the future of Illéa to make sure that America was on her way to the safe room entrance in his office, Maxon had instituted a construction project to tear down most of the wall separating their offices. In its place there would be two large ornate doors, much like the ones separating their bedrooms. They would now have adjoined offices and could leave the doors open when they weren't hosting meetings.

America was just as thrilled about this change as she had been a few days after the coronation when Maxon had moved the King's office to be next to the Queen's in the first place. At the time, he'd been desperate for chance encounters with America in the hallway, and desperate to be free of the room where he'd received so many lashings. But, as happy as she was for the change, the new closeness came with a price, and that price was the loud and invasive construction happening in their offices that very moment.

"Do you know what, Silvia?" America said, standing. Silvia rushed to her feet and fell into a curtsey. It didn't matter how many times America asked her not to, Silvia was the guardian of royal protocol and every time America sat, stood, or sneezed, Silvia fell into some various form of obsequiousness.

"Yes, Queen America?" Silvia said, but with the tone of someone fully aware that they were about to be blown off.

"I'm going to have a discussion with Maxon about which countries we'd invite to our summit, I think that will help our seating arrangement plans enormously."

Even Silvia had to agree that having a theoretical guest list would be helpful in drafting a theoretical seating chart. America saw it in her expression as she nodded and America thanked the maid before dismissing her. America's feet practically flew to the library, her heart fluttering in her chest, adrenaline pumping through her veins. After almost _two weeks_ Stavros had _finally_ made a decision. Maxon had predicted a couple of days, a few more if it was a particularly difficult decision. Well, this must have been an impossible decision, because it had taken _weeks. _

Maxon had been quick to emphasize that no news was good news, when it came to Stavros' deliberation. If the answer was an easy 'no', then he'd have gotten back to them long ago. He was genuinely considering the amendment, weighing out the pros and cons. That's what they wanted. That's what they paid him for.

America wiped her sweaty palms on her black slacks, then hurried into the library, closing the door behind her. She found Maxon staring out the window at the grounds below, a tri-folded piece of paper grasped in his hand. When he heard her approaching, he turned around to see her. He looked so much more at peace since their impromptu stay-cation at the beginning of the previous week. He was well-rested and even a little bit tan from their picnics in the sun.

"Hello, Beautiful." he said, warmly.

"Well, that's not my name." America said, as if dismayed. She moved to stand right in front of him, mirroring his lean to the side, against the window frame. There was less than a foot between them.

"You've got to let me call you _something_, America." Maxon pretended to chastise.

"Do I? I much prefer to watch you nervously jump from endearment to endearment, afraid of offending me."

"That's not a very nice thing to do with someone's affections."

"I'm a cruel mistress." America agreed.

"Oh, I don't think I should call you 'cruel mistress' in front of other people, though, Love."

"I do love 'Love'." America had to admit.

"I know you do." he smiled, smugly. Then he looked her over from top to bottom."You got my note, then?" he asked.

America nodded, breath hitching. Banter with Maxon always helped to calm her, but the banter was over and they were getting down to business. "What does it say?" she asked, nervously, eyeing the note from Stavros still clutched in Maxon's hand. Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking.

"It's just a quick note. He didn't give any indication about his decision, he just asked to meet with us."

"Now? Can we meet now?"

"After lunch." Maxon nodded.

America took a deep breath. "God. Maxon, if he says 'no'—"

"Then we'll try again later. 'No' never means 'no' with this kind of legislation. At worst, the answer will be 'not right now.'"

"But 'right now' is when we need it, Maxon. I could be pregnant 'right now'. If I give birth to a baby girl before we make this amendment, she won't be protected by it."

"'Could' and 'If', my love." Maxon said, soothingly. "There's no sense worrying yourself sick over 'could' and 'if' right now."

America nodded, knowing he was right. "I'm not putting our eventual daughters at risk of being traded to New Asia like some kind of Illéan export." But she said this softly, tiredly. She didn't know why this was such a struggle. It seemed like such an obvious injustice to her, why should it take Stavros _two weeks_ to make a decision?

"Don't worry about that right now." Maxon advised. "You can't change the outcome of the meeting by agonizing over that. Be patient. We'll figure it out. You know that I'll protect my children, don't you? _All_ of them, boys and girls?"

Now he looked nervous, apprehensive about what she'd say next. He was really asking if she thought he'd be like Clarkson. "Maxon, you are going to be a wonderful father." America said, confidently.

"So you trust me, then? You trust me to take care of my girls? All of them, even you?"

America smiled, "I trust you." Trusting Maxon was always a little like flying through a free fall. There was a moment of hesitation, her stubborn independence tugging her back from the edge, and then she'd remind herself that it was _Maxon_. And she'd jump.

"Good." Maxon smiled. "I'll send a note to Stavros, we'll have the meeting right after lunch."

"Alright." America nodded, taking a steadying breath.

"Are we still eating together?"

"Yes, please." she nodded, tugging her ear.

"Good." Maxon beamed widely at the familiar gesture.

America turned to leave, but then remembered, "Maxon? Who are we inviting to your stupid imaginary summit?"

"It's not stupid!" he defended.

"Well?"

"I'd thought New Asia, Italy, Swenday, France, and England."

"The German Federation?"

"Things are a little… icy between the Chancellor and myself, at the moment."

America's eyebrows lifted high on her face. "Icy? _Maxon?_"

"She's trying to renegotiate the trade agreement that we _just_ signed last year. And we had a summit with her a couple of months ago, she'll understand if—"

"We're inviting her."

"_America_." he practically whined.

"I like her. I think she's smart and I want her in our corner if New Asia decides to toss our peace treaty in the garbage."

Maxon pouted. "Fine."

America nodded. "I'll see you at lunch—"

"Wait! I haven't gotten the chance to ask you this morning—" America preemptively rolled her eyes. She braced herself for Maxon's new favorite question. Maxon's brown eyes glittered and his face broke into a cheeky grin, "America, are you feeling particularly impregnated today?"

"_No_, Maxon." America rolled her eyes. "You know that's not how it works." If she had conceived during their little vacation, then she was still days away from the earliest possible positive on a pregnancy test, and possibly as far as a month away from the earliest symptom. Dr. Ashlar had explained it very clearly to the both of them. "But you just like to say my name in the same sentence with 'impregnated', don't you?"

"Yes."

"See you at lunch, Maxon." America turned on her heel and tried to ignore the amused smile on her husband's face as he watched her go.


	10. Chapter 10

America and Maxon had to go to Stavros' office this time, because both of theirs were being renovated. It did not help suppress the sensation that they were being summoned by an unimpressed school teacher, as opposed to 'the honor of their presence' being 'requested' by a faithful and wise adviser, as Stavros' note had indicated.

America hadn't been expecting to eat much at lunch, as anxious as she'd been for this meeting to finally arrive. What if Stavros rejected the amendment? What if he _accepted_ it? But Maxon had been insistent, and she'd managed more than a plateful. She regretted every bite she'd taken, as she and Maxon took the seemingly endless walk to Stavros' office. She was more than certain that she'd be vomiting it all up, all over Stavros.

Her mouth was dry, her hands were sweating, her heart was pounding, and her stomach was churning. It only got worse as they got closer to Stavros' office. "Maxon." she whispered as they turned the corner and the office door came into view.

Maxon rounded on her and kissed her forehead firmly. "We're going to figure this out, America, one way or another."

"I just—"

"I know." he assured her.

"I really want this."

"Me, too."

America took a deep breath and nodded, marginally reassured. They had the same stake in this fight, the life, future, and happiness of a mutual, albeit theoretical daughter. "Okay."

"I'm going to tell her about this, you know." Maxon said, taking America's hand tightly and proceeding at a slowed, but steady pace down the long hallway.

"Who?"

"Our daughter. We _will_ have a daughter one day, America." he looked over at her, gauging her response. "First, second, third… at some point, I _will_ be tucking a pigtailed little princess into bed at night and filling her head with stories about how her mother slew dragons and moved mountains so that our little princess could find love in her own way, in her own time."

Now America's breath was stolen again, but for an entirely different reason. "I can't wait."

They were standing before the door to Stavros' office now, and a royal guard knocked twice before announcing their arrival.

Maxon leant over and whispered, softly, "He's going to offer us something to drink before we start the meeting. I want you to accept a glass of water and drink it for me."

"Why?"

"So I won't be quite so concerned about the distinct possibility of your passing out in the middle of this meeting."

He smirked at her and straightened up. He extended his arm to America, and America wrapped her arm around his with a roll of her eyes. But he was right. A glass of water would be helpful. And she had felt faint on the stairs, earlier.

The royal guard bowed out and stood aside for them to pass before closing the door behind them. Stavros was standing in the middle of the office and bowed deeply to them.

"Good afternoon, Stavros." Maxon said, so that Stavros could stand and speak again.

"Thank you for seeing me so promptly, your Majesties." Stavros nodded to Maxon and then to America. "Please, be seated." he gestured to two plush visitor's chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

The office might as well have been carved from the center of a mahogany tree, everything was rich, brown, and wooden. Even the photographs picturing people who must have been Stavros' wife and children, along with photographs of Stavros alongside prestigious foreign dignitaries, were framed in wood accented with gold. The photograph hanging just behind his desk, looming large, was Stavros with King Clarkson and a young teenaged Maxon, at maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. It had been taken on the set of the _Report. _America wondered what she'd been doing at the exact moment of this photograph's taking. Had she, at the age of twelve or thirteen, watched that _Report_ with her parents? Had she been too busy playing with May or gossiping with Kenna to tune in?

Maxon cleared his throat subtly and America blinked. The men were waiting for her to take her seat so that they, too, could be seated. America immediately complied, and Maxon followed, but before Stavros sat he said, "May I offer your Majesties something to drink?"

"Water, please, Stavros." Maxon said, then turned to America, expectantly.

"…Yes, Water." America nodded. He served her first, and she thanked him. Her hand was shaking as she accepted the glass, and she could hear the ice clinking against the side of the glass. Maxon stopped short of reaching a hand out to her, because they were here in their official capacities as King and Queen of Illéa, so physical contact had to be kept to an absolute minimum, or so Silvia insisted. But he did lock eyes with her meaningfully.

'Are you alright?' the warm, brown eyes asked.

'Fine.' she tried to make hers answer. She looked over at the desk where the folder Maxon had given Stavros at their last meeting sat atop a stack of other work. The folder was now very full. 'What does that mean? A full folder? Is that good, he put together a plan? Is that bad, he put together an excuse?' she looked imploringly back at Maxon.

Maxon followed her gaze to the folder and took a moment to decode the look in her eyes. Then he lightly shook his head, his eyes begging her to stop trying to predict the future. 'You're not a prophet, my love.' she could almost hear his voice in her head as she stayed locked in on those eyes.

'How do you know?' she cocked an eyebrow. 'I can be impressive.' she felt her lips tug into a little smirk.

Maxon couldn't keep a mirroring smirk from his lips at the look on her face. 'Impressive, yes. But you've never given me any indication that you're biblically miraculous.' If they'd had the freedom to speak aloud, America was more than certain that that's exactly what their conversation would have been.

They were interrupted in their reasonably accurate endeavors to read one another's minds by Stavros returning to his chair with his own glass of water. It was customary to do as the King did, and since the King had requested a glass of water, Stavros was having one, too.

"I suppose that you both realize why I have invited you to my office today?" Stavros asked. "I have given a tremendous amount of consideration to your amendment proposal, your Majesties. I did as the King requested and had the researchers poll from all castes, collecting data and popular opinion research in regards to a princess inheriting the crown, a princess entertaining a male selection, and the alteration of the responsibilities of the princess to exclude diplomatic marriages. I also have the latest approval ratings for you, King Maxon, and you, Queen America."

"Thank you, Stavros." Maxon said, as Stavros opened the black, crest covered folder and handed them each a thick packet of data from inside. The cover page was blank, except for a blood red stamp marked 'Classified Level 1'. The next page was a copy of the amendment America and Maxon had written together, what felt like years before. In handwriting, Stavros' suggestions for phrasing and punctuation decorated the passage. Silvia had done similar corrections to essays the Selected had written on etiquette and history during the Selection.

Was this a good sign? Stavros hadn't thrown the whole amendment out. If he'd taken the time to _im_prove it, did that mean that he would _ap_prove it?

"I've poured over the data and collaborated with Renken on the numbers," Renken was Maxon's public opinion adviser, America distantly recalled the face of a blonde haired man to whom she'd been introduced shortly after Maxon proposed to her. Since then, she'd only seen him from across the room on the set of the _Report_. "Of course, I did not divulge anything specific about the amendment."

"We appreciate your discretion, Stavros." Maxon said. He was using his King voice again, with the lower tone and the consonants hit harder. America wanted to remember to tease him about that later, maybe add it to her repertoire of Maxon impressions.

"Your Majesty, your Majesty," he looked to Maxon, and then to America, "It is my greatly considered opinion that it would require an unprecedented swing of public support to safely enact this amendment. To avoid an uprising, either violent or political, and to avoid the offending of allies or the antagonizing of enemies, caused by this amendment, would require a confluence of events never before known in Illéa. Support of the institution of the Monarchy, support of the King, Queen, and royal child, support for every other item on your agenda must all surge to practically unattainable highs. Numbers you simply do not have right now."

America's eyes fell to her lap and her heart fell to her stomach. So this was it. Stavros was telling them that it was not possible. To avoid civil unrest, to avoid insulting New Asia and to keep the Schreaves on the throne, America was going to have to allow any daughter she ever had to be traded off to another country. And to sit by as her eventual son was given a nationally televised parade of women to consider, as well as a crown, no matter when he was born. This was the moment when she was glad Maxon had made her take a glass of water. She sipped it, the feeling of the cold liquid in her mouth and the cold glass tumbler in her hands was the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears.

"That being said," Stavros continued, but America barely heard him, "It is also my considered opinion that, if this amendment ever were to be approved, now would be the optimal time in history to approve it. And King Maxon would be the optimal King to approve it."

America's packet of statistics fell from her lap to the floor as she gaped up at Stavros, certain she'd dreamt him. Certain she'd dreamt this all.

Maxon had a tiny, cautious smile on his face at this news. "Explain, please, Stavros."

"You are the most popular king in Illéan history, your Majesty, your public approval ratings consistently come in at 53% amongst all castes polled. For comparison, your father polled only the top three castes, and averaged just 40% approval amongst those who would have seemed to be his most avid supporters. He never bothered asking what the lower castes thought of him. Such matters did not trouble him."

America beamed at Maxon, genuine pride for her husband shining through her smile. She knew he was beloved, but having numbers to demonstrate that love was absolutely inspiring.

Stavros went on, "Queen America polls at 60% approval, tying Queen Amberly. And when the people consider you both together as a unit, 'King Maxon and Queen America' together poll at 55%, an historic high."

America laughed, "You're bringing me down, Maxon."

"I apologize, my dear." he smiled waggishly back at her, and she briefly considered dousing him with the ice water in her hands. She was not his dear.

"43% of those polled from all castes believe that Illéa is headed in the right direction."

"Less than half?" America asked, disappointed.

"I'm afraid so. Another record for your Majesties," Stavros explained, "20% of those polled are uncertain about the direction of Illéa. Say what you will about the Illéas and the previous Schreaves, but they were decisive, strong leaders who left little uncertainty in their wakes."

"Maxon is a strong leader." America argued.

"Certainly, your Majesty." Stavros said, but as a matter of course. He was watching Maxon, who was flipping through the data to find the statistic in question.

"This is because of the reforms I am instituting, isn't it?"

"I believe so, your Majesty. I believe those numbers will shift significantly over the next ten years as the citizens acclimate to your reign, and to your reforms."

"But still, you advise this change now?" Maxon asked. "Why not wait ten years?"

"Your popularity is not guaranteed, nor the direction of the shift in the 'uncertain' respondents. They might decide the country is headed in the wrong direction and yearn for the days of the certainty and familiarity of the caste structure." Stavros took a sip of his water and looked back and forth between America and Maxon, "Also, your Majesties, we have been given to understand that you are now working diligently to produce a royal heir?"

America blushed furiously. She hated how the advisers talked about 'producing an heir' as if she and Maxon were perfecting a scientific experiment.

"We are." Maxon affirmed.

"The six months between the announcement of a pregnancy and the birth will provide the highest approval ratings you are ever likely to receive, King Maxon and Queen America. Historically, it has provided an average of a ten point bump, although your numbers are high already so it might be more modest in this case. In any event, national unity surges and a feeling of loyalty as well as a familial bond with the royal family fortify the monarchy. Little specials on the _Report_ about decorating the nursery and maternity fashion and the King's role in preparing for the new baby, all do wonders for approval ratings and public support."

America swallowed, "So we could announce this after we announce a pregnancy?"

Stavros hurried to make clear, "We could announce this _late _in a pregnancy, your Majesty, when the swell of support will be at its zenith. And only after what I am afraid must be a brutal campaign for the hearts and minds of the people. Time consuming, expensive, and exhausting. There will be projects that the both of you will have to move to the back burners, in order to complete this campaign and achieve the numbers we need in time."

America looked to Maxon. They were thinking the same thing.

"This is our top priority, Stavros." America said.

"Very well." Stavros said, with a nod. He'd expected as much. "Then let me explain to you where we're starting out. 42% of the people support the abstract concept of a princess being equal to a prince, with a 15% undecided margin. But when the concept was broken down for them, the numbers fell. Only 40% support an end to diplomatic marriages, and a meager 36% support a female Selection featuring young men in competition. A robust 55% support a princess inheriting the throne; but only 30% would support her over a younger brother, with 20% undecided and 50% opposed."

America exhaled, feeling as if she'd just been bashed over the head with a club. _Half_ of Illéa would not support a woman inheriting the throne over a man, even if she was born first. She could see what Stavros meant when he'd mentioned the 'brutal campaign'.

Stavros concluded, "If Queen America is correct, and this amendment is now your top priority as monarchs—"

"She is." Maxon looked over at America, then back to Stavros. "It is." Maxon assured him.

"Then we must get to work right away. The Queen's staff and the King's staff will need to be in constant coordination, public events are going to become increasingly important, a tour of the provinces would not be unwarranted, as well as increased exposure on the _Report_. I want to see your combined approval ratings at 75%, and the acceptance of a princess superseding a prince to the throne at 55% approval. These polls have a 7% margin of error, those numbers would put us safely over a threshold, even if they were 7 points off and you were actually at 68 and 48."

"We understand." Maxon said, grimly. It was a tall order. More than that, it was basically impossible. America and Maxon were already the most popular rulers Illéa had ever known, and they were only at 55% together. How could they ever achieve 75%? And how could something that half of the people of Illéa were opposed to ever receive the kind of support their potential daughter would one day need to take her place on the throne?

Stavros said, "King Maxon, I advise that you put together a war council for this project."

A war council was what they called a small council made up of some Maxon's most trusted advisers. It wasn't always about war, but they tended to strategize about whatever they were working on as if planning battles. They would have separate meetings just to discuss the passing of this amendment.

"I will come up with a list for you as soon as possible." Maxon agreed. "And I'd like your recommendations as well."

"Of course. We will chart our next moves from there." Stavros nodded. He was ending the meeting. How had he done that? With just the downward inflection of his voice, he'd brought a meeting with the King and Queen of Illéa to an end. America needed to learn that trick, maybe she could use it sometime to jailbreak Maxon from stuffy policy meetings that tended to run overtime. Stavros probably had a lot of tricks worth learning, actually, and America decided that she'd start paying more attention to him in the future.

Maxon stood, and Stavros jumped up to comply with protocol. Maxon offered America his arm and she took it, standing and holding the packet of data out to Stavros.

"That's yours to keep and consider, your Majesty." Stavros assured her.

"Thank you, Stavros." She really did mean it. She couldn't imagine how much time and effort he'd put in to assembling this data and formulating this plan. She felt sorry for her own impatience these last two weeks.

He seemed to sense her genuine gratitude, and his face relaxed slightly. She saw his grey eyes go soft for the first time. They weren't adversaries anymore. Now that Stavros had put together this plan, they were allies. "Of course, your Majesty."

"How old are your children now, Stavros?" America asked.

"Quite grown, your Majesty. My grandchildren are twelve, ten, and eight."

"And you are bringing your family to the egg roll, are you not?" America asked, resting the packet of data in the crook of her left arm.

"No, your Majesty. We have not received invitations."

America looked over at Maxon, who was looking back at her with some mixture of pride and amusement on his face. She returned her gaze to Stavros. "Bring them. I especially want to meet your wife." she added the last part in soft voice, with a tiny smile.

"Yes, your Majesty." Stavros said, clearly considering what kind of trouble the Queen could make for him if she turned his wife into one of her allies.

Stavros opened the door for the both of them and bowed as they passed. When they were safely down the long hallway and around the corner, Maxon stopped and turned to her, amused.

"Are you going to win Stavros over, my love?"

"He doesn't strike me as a prize to be won." America shrugged.

"Still… what a powerful man to have in your pocket."

"I don't keep people in my pockets, Maxon." America said, sharply.

"Yes, you do. That's the exact effect you have on everyone you meet. I thought Stavros might be different, having been the leader of the old guard. But you'll convert him yet, won't you?"

America sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to stop him from looking at her like she'd just cast some kind of magical curse over Stavros. So instead she simply shook her head and said, "I can't help it. One can never help being born into perfection."

He laughed at the quote and then touched his nose to hers. "No, I don't suppose you can help it."

They stood like that for a moment.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" America asked, blinking her long lashes, her blue eyes meeting Maxon's.

"I am… I just got lost in a thought." Maxon apologized, his nose still touching hers. His arms wound around her waist and she rested her hands on his shoulders. They could have been dancing.

"Something more interesting than kissing me?"

"There was a philosophical ideal that I studied with my tutors." Maxon explained softly, the rumble of his voice entrancing her. "The concept was that the anticipation of an event would always be better than the event itself. The moment before you bite into a strawberry tart will always be better than the moment after. The moment before you open a birthday gift will always be better than the moment after. Events cannot hold up to the anticipation of the events in the human mind. I always thought it was true. Except…"

"Except?"

"You disprove the theory, America." he said, in complete awe. "The moment before kissing you is most assuredly _not_ better than the moment after. Kissing you is better than anything that came before. The moment before falling in love with you was _not_ better than the moment after falling in love with you. Everything about you is _now_, and demands to be experienced in-the-moment. When I'm waiting for you in my office to meet me for lunch, the moment before you appear is not better than the moment after you appear. I got lost in the thought, Ames… I was trying to savor the moment just before kissing you because I'd been told that _that_ was the best part… and then I realized that it wasn't…"

America had leant back to take in more of the expression on his face as he explained this, and now she said, "Maxon, I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You're smart and thoughtful and genuine and devoted."

"Yes, I am all of those things."

"You amaze me."

"Do I?"

"Every day. Not always in a good way." She wrinkled her nose at him.

"No?"

"You're a little bit of an idiot."

"Why so?" he asked, confused.

"Because you _still_ haven't kissed me."

"Ah. Glaring oversight?"

"Blinding."

There was a laugh on his lips as he _finally_ pressed them to hers.


	11. Chapter 11

America paced back and forth in the hallway outside of the conference room where she knew Maxon was in the middle of a budget meeting. Budget meetings were the longest, most tedious kinds of meetings, it could be hours before they adjourned, and she needed to see him _immediately_.

Her heart was racing in her chest, her hands wringing together. She didn't know exactly what to say, how to tell him. She was shaking.

Mercifully, Esther the maid rounded the corner with a trolly full of snacks and coffee bound for the meeting, and presented America with a solution to one of her problems. Now she had a way to get Maxon's attention. "Don't go in." America said, as Esther curtseyed to her. "I need you to take something to the King for me."

"Of course, your Majesty." Having been addressed directly, she stood back up.

America nodded, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Royalty does not run, Silvia had driven that lesson home through the years, so America walked as quickly as she could, two doors down, to an empty meeting space. In the middle of the table, she found what she was looking for, blank pads of paper and cups full of ballpoint pens.

America took a pen and tore a corner off of one of the pads. She let the pen hover low over the scrap of paper as she considered how to tell him. She didn't want him to lose it in front of his financial advisers.

She bought herself a few more moments to make up her mind as she walked back out into the hall and saw Esther standing very still, awaiting orders.

America sighed, knowing she couldn't delay the inevitable any longer, and she pressed the paper to the wall for a flat surface to write on, scribbling,

_ Tugging my ear, for two. Come and see us as soon as you can._

_ Love, A & B_

America folded the note in half and handed it to Esther. "Please give this to the King. Immediately. It's important."

"Yes, your Majesty." Esther curtseyed, taking the note.

"Thank you, Esther." America said, absentmindedly. She was back to being consumed by nerves.

Esther looked back up at America in surprise, but did not say anything. She walked into the meeting room, pushing the trolly in front of her.

America paced back and forth, a ten foot circuit in front of the door. She knew she had to wait for Esther to finish serving before the note would be delivered. It was torture.

America had just come from her weekly checkup with Dr. Ashlar. Since going off of the birth control tablets and officially beginning to 'try' with Maxon, she'd been forced into weekly checkups every Friday. At least Dr. Ashlar came to her, instead of her having to go all the way to the hospital wing over and over. This time, amidst the vitamin level checks and the weigh-ins, something new popped up. A positive pregnancy screening. Dr. Ashlar would put in an order from the Angeles Capital Hospital for a sonogram machine. They'd be adding ultrasounds to the checkup list from now on. America was pregnant.

Unfortunately, America's pregnancy was considered a matter of state. Her first impulse was to plan a fantastic surprise for Maxon, maybe find a sneaky way to tell him at the Palace egg roll that weekend. She'd put an ultrasound picture and a little note in a gold-colored plastic egg and drop it into his basket. He'd open it and be really confused until he saw the note, and then he'd cry in front of the whole Kingdom. It would have been amazing, but, by law, the King had to be informed immediately about the conception of an heir. Dr. Ashlar had been most apologetic when explaining this to America.

She supposed it didn't really matter how she told him, he was going to be overjoyed either way. And no matter how she told him, it would be memorable. It's not like he'd forget and then look up in nine-ish months and exclaim, 'Ahh! Who is this little creature? Why does it look like me? America, were you pregnant? I _totally_ forgot! You should have told me in a more memorable way!'

The door to the conference room opened, and Esther returned, free from the burden of her tray and the note.

"You gave it to him?" America asked as the door closed behind her.

Esther curtseyed. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Did he read it?"

"Not yet, your Majesty. They are in the middle of… what sounded to be a tense discussion."

"Oh." America frowned. Tense was bad. "Did you happen to hear the item on the agenda?"

Esther blushed, "I did, your Majesty." The staff was supposed to pretend not to overhear anything. But America knew better. The staff heard _everything_.

"It's alright, Esther, you can tell me."

"Yes, your Majesty. They were discussing funding for the food assistance program."

"Maxon's trademark legislation." America sighed. "Right." she paused, "Esther, did you happen to read the note I handed you?"

Esther reddened ever farther. Her black, knotted hair and pale skin provided the perfect contrast. "I apologize, your Majesty, it fell open on the trolly as I was serving. I did see it."

"I don't suppose it was the clearest message, was it?"

"I'm certain his Majesty will understand."

"Do _you_ understand, Esther?"

"…Not exactly, your Majesty… but I do think I get the general idea."

America nodded, licking her dry lips and folding her nervously shaking arms. "You are one of three people, excluding the King, who knows about this. Soon he'll stop being an idiot and read the note from his wife, and that will make you one of four. My physician is the other. I beg you for your discretion, Esther—"

"Oh, your Majesty, of course!"

"Not a word, not to anyone. Not your most trusted confidant, best friend, sister, boyfriend, no one. Not yet. If word of this gets around the castle, I shall know it was you."

Fear covered Esther's face, "Your Majesty, I swear—"

"Oh, God, Esther, no! That wasn't a threat!" America clarified. She tried to imagine if those words had come from Clarkson's mouth or Maxon's, when she'd first met him. Before she knew him well. That would have terrified her. "I only meant that… what I'm not doing a good job of explaining is that your discretion will be rewarded, but I'll know if you haven't been discrete and then…" America sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm a nervous wreck right now. Please ignore me and continue with your work."

"Yes, your Majesty." Esther curtseyed again, peering over at her carefully. America went back to pacing. "And, your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"I _won__'__t _tell a soul. Congratulations."

"…Thank you, Esther."

Esther left, her black shoes clicking against the floor as she rounded the next corner and disappeared.

'Congratulations'. Oh.

America had almost forgotten that this was something for her to celebrate in her anxiety over how to tell Maxon. This was _her _baby, too. From the moment the pregnancy screening had come back positive, the only words spread around were 'King', 'Maxon's' and 'heir'. It hit her like a ton of bricks. _She_ was pregnant. She, America Schreave, was _pregnant_. She was going to have a baby. A little crying, squirming, gurgling baby. Kenna was getting that niece or nephew. America's _Dad_ was getting a grandchild, not that he'd ever get the chance to meet it.

There was a sobering thought. 25% of this kid's DNA was Shalom Singer, and the two of them would never meet. It was heartbreaking, America couldn't process the reality of it. She could so clearly imagine her father's face, split into a wide, proud smile as she told him the news, that he was going to get a brand new grandchild. It was so hard to believe that she'd never see that smile, that her father would never even know. She could almost feel his arms wrapping around her in a congratulatory embrace that would never really happen. And the same was true of Amberly, who would, no doubt, have wept at the news.

And then there was Clarkson. A quarter of this baby's genetic code was made of Clarkson. She had Clarkson's DNA in her body, inseparable from herself for the next seven or eight months. She shuddered. Was this how Maxon felt all the time?

Maxon.

This child was half Maxon. America would have a little piece of Maxon with her at all times until it was born. Her hand brushed her stomach. The next King or Queen of Illéa was right below her fingertips. She imagined placing that baby in Maxon's arms. She smiled.

The door to the conference room swung open again.

Maxon came running out, looking up and down the hall until he found her, he closed the door behind him with so much enthusiasm that it slammed.

"A and B?" Maxon asked, rushing forward to take both of her hands in his. Her note was still clutched in his grasp and was pinned between their hands as he squeezed tightly.

"Yes." America nodded, her breath and voice gone, her throat dry. The shakes returned. What if he wasn't really ready? What if he was disappointed? What if—

"Tugging your ear for two? Come and see _us_?" he asked again.

"That's right."

"I haven't misunderstood, then? I'm standing here, in this hallway, with—"

"With your little family." America nodded, encouragingly. She pried one of his hands off of hers and pressed it to her flat stomach, "Maxon, I'm pregnant."

His eyes drifted down to their hands on her midriff, and they widened a little with wonder. He stared and stared, confounded by the vision before him. America waited, holding her breath, for anything. A smile, a laugh, a frown, a repulsed step backward, _anything_. "Maxon?" she asked, shakily. He wasn't responding. "Are you alright?"

Words had left him. He simply nodded, staring at the hand pressed flat to her as if stunned. He took several breaths, trying to say something, opening his mouth but then losing the words and closing it again. The fourth time this happened, America tried to help, "What are you thinking, Maxon?"

"Just…" he shook his head, "I love it so much. I love it so much already, I've never met this person or seen this person, I've only known of its existence for a handful of moments, but I already love it with everything I have…"

America smiled, relieved, and gave a long exhale. "I know what you mean."

His eyes welled with tears. "You found out at the checkup this morning?"

"Yes. You have to confirm for Dr. Ashlar that I didn't commit treason and neglect to inform you immediately."

"What? That's a law?" Maxon sniffled.

"Yeah."

"We'll have to amend that in our next session." He'd said the word. 'Amend'. He'd heard it, too. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter." America said, firmly. "Our amendment is happening, no matter what."

"I agree… I didn't mean… I just can't wait—"

"We don't know." she said, softly. "It's too soon to tell."

"How soon?"

"We're not sure, exactly. But Dr. Ashlar says we won't be able to determine the gender until closer to 16 weeks. And it definitely hasn't been that long yet."

"I wonder if it happened over our little vacation." he mused.

"We'll know next week when I get an ultrasound done."

"Make sure that's on my schedule, I want to be there."

"Okay." America smiled.

His hand was still pressed to her stomach, firmly. His eyes fell back down to it. "An inch away…" he mumbled. Then he looked back up at her, and asked, as if he might have dreamed it all, "Are we really having a baby?"

"Yes." America laughed.

His eyes filled with tears for a second time, but he dropped her other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, battling them back. "Your work… America, you need to cut back—"

"I'm not—"

"I don't want to hear it, you need rest." he said. "You've got to make an entirely new human within your body, and you're not plugged into any external power source. You need rest."

"What'll it be, then? The education of your citizenry? The organization of your international summits? How about the community outreach programs or the medals of valor I award to the families of dead soldiers, should I cut that out?"

"Of course not."

"Then don't be silly." America said, crossly. "I promise to rest, but I don't promise to cut anything."

Maxon frowned. "More staff, then, to help you? More maids on call—"

"I don't think…" America paused.

"You've been making do with just Mary and Paige for so long, America, you know you're owed a third personal maid."

America thought of Esther. If she proved loyal and did not let this royal secret slip, she might be valuable. "I'll consider it."

"That's my girl." Maxon shifted his hand slightly so that it was grasping her waist and he pulled her in for a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"So this is our little secret, for now, I presume?"

"Yes." America nodded, recalling Dr. Ashlar's words. "As a matter of State, you must inform your advisers. And I should tell Mary and Paige. But otherwise, it's our little secret."

Maxon nodded. "Do you want to tell your mother?"

"God, no, not yet." America winced.

"Fair enough." Maxon smiled. "But if there's anyone you feel you should tell, I want you to feel free."

"You're not worried about the royal rumors?"

Maxon laughed and pulled her in for a hug. "Baby rumors? Sweetheart, they've been watching you for 'bumps' since I proposed to you instead of Kriss. Do you remember the wild rumor that you were pregnant and I found out, which accounted for the change in my choice?"

"Of course I do." America frowned.

"Let them talk. That's all it will be, until it's not anymore." Maxon pressed his lips to her hair. "I'm so happy, America."

"Good."

"As promised, we will be spending more time together, starting now."

"Now? But what about your budget meeting?"

"It wasn't going well. As usual, too many projects and not enough money. I've postponed until Monday."

America supposed the advisers must have gone out the door on the other side of the room which led to the hall with all of their offices in it. Still, she was glad no one had decided to go the other way. They'd have walked in on quite the scene between Maxon and her.

"Alright, then." America smiled. "I guess I should send word to Silvia not to expect me until after lunch."

"She'll be livid, this close to a major palace event." Maxon smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her off.

"I know. I'll have to spend the next week getting back into her good graces." America smiled.

"Gardens or bed?" Maxon asked, as they arrived at the stairs.

"My two true loves." America sighed, going back and forth in her mind. Then she looked over at him. "I could use some pajama time." she confessed.

"We have time for a quick game of 'castaways'." Maxon suggested. "Perhaps it's time for that hurricane to hit our boat?"

"Oh, yes." America nodded, smiling, as he led her up the stairs. "It will be terrifying and I'll cling to you the whole time, and we'll barely survive, and we'll have to take a long nap to recover." she said, placidly.

"As we drift off to sleep, and also to sea, we'll discuss names for our baby."

"Who, 'Max and Mer'? Or you and me?"

"Max and Mer." Maxon said. It was just as well. America couldn't imagine trying to come up with real baby names, as overwhelmed as she was with this news. "How many normal children do the normal 'Max and Mer' have? I can't remember what you said."

"They have three already. And I guess we'll let the baby play with us, since it's here and all." America tapped her tummy. "So almost four."

"It's generous of you, to let the little kids play." Maxon complimented her with a chuckle, probably repeating something his mother had told him once about playing with his younger cousins.

"Born into perfection and all." America reminded him, leaning into him as he tightened the arm around her waist and led her out to sea.


	12. Chapter 12

The morning of the Palace egg roll arrived too brightly and too early for America's tastes, but she was grateful. In true Angeles fashion, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The entire Palace was a giant pastel pop of springtime colors with large tented pavilions set up in the gardens full of food and music. The staff were all in top form, Silvia organizing the decorators and Mary fulfilling her role as head of the Queen's staff by organizing all of the maids and butlers. It was a delicate, beautiful ballet, putting the gardens together that morning. America enjoyed being at the center of it more than she'd expected to.

She had gotten the idea for this huge celebration during her very first year as Queen, as she'd read through the rest of Gregory Illéa's diaries with Maxon, trying to come to terms with the dubious beginnings on their country. Transcribed neatly in the pages, amidst countless atrocities, another holiday tradition was detailed, like Halloween. One involving colorful, candy-filled eggs and a scavenger hunt of sorts to find them. It was a Christian tradition, in the old days they'd used it to celebrate the death and resurrection of the messiah. But, as it had been abandoned anyway, America didn't think the messiah would mind too much if she repurposed it as a celebration of the springtime.

It was the very end of April now, and the garden was absolutely flourishing. If they'd had the egg roll on the actual equinox, the flowers wouldn't have been ready yet. The end of April was the perfect time to host this event, and if it went well this year, the Palace would be sending funding next year to the Mayors of each province, and the inter-caste celebration would spread, hopefully becoming a beloved Illéan tradition, although America wasn't clear on how beloved traditions started, so she wasn't sure if her little egg thing would ever truly qualify.

America left just before the guests began arriving and Paige finished preparing her, helping her into a beautiful floral day dress that hit just below her knees and a pair of diamond earrings that had belonged to Amberly. Those earrings had been Maxon's first anniversary gift to her, as well as the plain, though intricately woven, delicate golden crown she currently wore atop her head that perfectly matched the rosy hues in her engagement ring.

She met up with Maxon, who'd been busy all morning with security meetings in anticipation of hosting a major palace event, just around the corner from the doors that led to the gardens. They needed to wait for all of the guests to arrive so that they could be formally announced, and everyone could curtsey, and they could take their seats on the thrones that had been set up under the main pavilion outside, and the party could officially begin.

When he finally arrived, Maxon looked as handsome as America had ever seen him, in a pair of starched khaki pants and a short-sleeved blue button-up. He was dressed perfectly for the warm weather, but he looked kind of silly wearing a golden crown on his head with that outfit. He also wore one of his favorite cameras around his neck.

"You're a casual king today, I see." America smiled.

"Should I go change?" Maxon asked, self-consciously.

"Please don't." America shook her head. "I'm hoping we can ditch the hardware before they give us both neck aches, maybe sometime after the formal programming?" The formal programming involved the concert given by the musicians to entertain the children as the parents and King and Queen went to hide the eggs throughout the garden. Then, at the conclusion of the music, the kids would be lined up by the maids and butlers and sent into the gardens in order of youngest to oldest. The littlest attendees would receive help from their parents. Sometime in the chaos of the egg hunt, America hoped to get out of the crown for the day.

"I think we can arrange something. I don't want the mother of my heir suffering from unnecessary neck aches."

"Shh." America warned, glancing around to see if anyone was near enough to have heard him. They were alone. She smiled and gave him a kiss. "So, the security briefing?"

"We're in good shape, my love." Maxon said, offering her his arm. She wrapped hers around it and leant a little against him. She was already tired, she'd been up before dawn getting ready for this party. Even though she'd only gone off of the birth control tablets three and a half weeks earlier, so she couldn't possibly be more than a month along, she was already feeling the exhaustion. That, or Maxon was right and she'd taken too much onto her schedule, even for a non-pregnant queen.

"I saw the extra guards stationed around the perimeter."

"Aspen's coordinating the whole thing." Maxon nodded. "But we don't expect any problems from the rebels."

"Hmm…" America paused, "Let me see if I can figure out why not."

"Alright." Maxon smiled. He liked it when she puzzled her way through matters of state or security like this. It helped him to understand her thought process as she struggled to wrap her mind around his world. It showed how much she'd grown and learned since the great anti-caste _Report_ debacle.

"There are a lot of innocent people here, and the King and Queen are out in the open. This would appear to be the perfect time to destroy the entire monarchy, and either make August and Georgia step up and finally take responsibility, those lazy slackers, or lead a coup and institute a rebel government."

"Yes, it would appear that way." Maxon nodded, with a grin. He and America liked making fun of August and Georgia for shirking their responsibility to the monarchy. August was now the King's adviser on rebel activity, and especially after particularly grueling briefings, Maxon would tease August and tell him that it was his turn to be King. "So, do you think that's what's going to happen?"

"No… because…" America frowned, thinking hard. "Because, killing Palace staff is one thing, because they're royal sympathizers, and foreign dignitaries are just another kind of royalty… so they all represent the thing the rebels are opposed to."

"That's right."

"But these people here are random citizens…"

"Why wouldn't the rebels want to kill them?" Maxon coaxed.

"I'm not sure... They've done it before." America said, thinking back.

"When?"

"During the Selection, they started randomly attacking the castes that the Elite represented."

"Did that go well for them?"

"No. The citizens rose up against them and began to fight back."

"Thanks to a beautiful redhead I married." Maxon nodded. "They lost a lot of public support that way, didn't they?"

"Yes. They learned that if they kill random citizens, then they'll lose public support."

"And what is public support to them, darling?" Maxon asked.

"Money. And man-power. It's hard to fight a revolution with no one willing to enlist in your army."

"That's right." Maxon smiled proudly. "If they alienate ordinary citizens and lose their support, they'll never get enough momentum going to actually overthrow our government. They'll never get to subjugate the people without the support of the people. They need to play nicely, at least where average citizens are concerned. They know that now, and are therefore unlikely to attack our party."

"Hmm." America considered it. "I hope you're right, Maxon."

"Me, too." he said, grimly.

They heard a fanfare play and knew that it was time for them to be introduced. "We'll just have to trust Aspen, then, won't we?" America said, as they headed out to the gardens.

"Yes, we will. As usual." Maxon agreed, and the doors to the garden were opened for them, leading them out onto a bright, sunny lawn.

Maxon and America were making separate rounds at the beginning of the party, so as to greet more guests, faster. America was under strict orders from Dr. Ashlar to drink lots of water and take plenty of breaks in the shade of the pavilions. She'd just finished greeting a family of threes who had been drawn in the lottery to attend, and decided it was time for some water, when she caught a glimpse of her family for the first time.

She saw Kenna approaching the same snack table, and at a distance behind her, James, Astra, Magda, May, and Gerad were chatting in a huge huddle with a family of fives drawn from the lottery.

"Ken." America smiled.

"Your Majesty." Kenna teased. America usually got teased by her family when she was wearing the crown, except for May, who thought it was amazing and didn't understand why America didn't wear it more often.

"When I'm done with the greetings, I want to spend some time with you guys, okay?"

"Of course." Kenna reached for a glass of champagne and America froze.

Kenna would be expecting America to do the same, but America couldn't drink the champagne arranged on the table. She would need either to ask an attendant maid to pour a glass of water, or pour one for herself from the crystal pitcher right there. Either way, Kenna would notice. There was no subtle way to choose water over champagne, and Kenna would know what it meant.

America cleared her throat to buy herself a moment, and finally decided that it was bad enough that she was wearing the crown today. She could pour her own damn water.

Kenna's jaw hung open, her eyes narrowed at America, watching the event unfold. Watching America pick up the heavy pitcher, pour herself a glass of water, set the pitcher carefully down on the table and then take a long sip.

"Oh, Ames." Kenna breathed.

"Not a word, Kenna." America said, seriously. "I really can't deal with Mom right now."

"I know what you mean." Kenna smiled. "But, America—"

"We'll talk later."

"Just… how far… I mean, when—"

"We're not sure yet. It's very, _very_ early. All the more reason not to breathe a word of it to anyone."

Kenna broke into a broad grin. "Oh, baby sister."

"Later?" America asked.

"Later." Kenna confirmed. She walked back over to join the rest of the Singers, grinning broadly. May looked up and caught America's eye with a large, bright smile. America waved and May waved back. May was going to be a terrific Aunt. This baby was very, very lucky.

America finished her glass of water under the shade of the tented pavilion where the staff had set up the thrones for Maxon and her. That's where Marlee, Carter, and Kile caught up to her.

"Great party, America!" Marlee exclaimed, a squirming two year old Kile on her hip.

"Thanks." America smiled, hugging Marlee with one arm, to avoid squishing Kile. "I'm glad Aspen gave you the time off, Carter."

"Yeah, funny thing." Carter nodded, taking his turn to hug America, "the Queen of Illéa cornered him in the hallway outside of our weight room and demanded that I be given the day off to spend with my family. Can you believe that?"

"Crazy." America said, wryly. "She must be a firecracker, that Queen."

"She certainly is." Carter said, appreciatively. "Thanks, Ames."

"Kile, do you want to go play with Astra?" America asked, turning to her little godson. Astra was only a year and a half older than Kile, and they were great playmates. It was good for both of them to spend time around kids their own age. America was stunned again when she remembered that soon she'd have her own baby to contribute to the 'kids their own age' collection.

Kile did this adorable thing where he pretended to be too shy to answer, then nodded his head a little, bashfully, then shouted, "Jes!" Because the letter 'y' was still too complicated a sound for his little tongue to form.

"Where are they?" Marlee asked, "I'll run him over there."

"They're in the far corner, past the refreshments table." America nodded over because if Silvia caught her pointing at a Palace event like this, in all likelihood, Silvia would chop America's finger off. "But, Carter, would you mind? I need a word with Marlee."

"Of course." Carter said. Marlee set Kile down and Carter leant over to take his little hand and lead him off.

For a moment, America and Marlee just watched them go. Carter, tall, lean and muscular, bent almost double over to reach the soft, little hand clasped gently in his own. "They're amazing, Mar." America said, in awe. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she imagined Maxon in the same posture, leading along their little son. Maybe a little blonde haired boy like Maxon, or maybe with mahogany hair like Amberly's had been. In just two short years, that's exactly what could happen.

Marlee tore her eyes away from her boys and watched America watch them go for a moment longer. "So, what's going on, America?"

America cleared her throat, remembering the task at hand. "Maxon and I are working on a little project right now. I can't go into details here, but he's assembling a war council for it, made up entirely of his advisers."

"Um… Okay." Marlee said, not sure why she was being told any of this. She'd been working at an introductory position in Silvia's office since Maxon and America had returned Marlee's and Carter's titles and positions to them, the same week as the royal wedding and coronation. Marlee was one of America's closest friends, but her official capacity at the palace was as something like a junior assistant to Silvia, so Marlee clearly wasn't sure what America was telling her this for.

"All of Maxon's advisers are men." America explained. "And though they're experienced and wise and they give very good counsel, for this particular project, I think we need some female voices in the room. I think it would help. Particularly because this is a public opinion project, and half of the public are women, it might be nice to hear from some women."

"Makes sense." Marlee nodded, still unsure where this was going.

"Maxon's war council can't have outsiders on the panel. Only his advisers can be on the panel. But I can make my own war council, and since I have no official advisers of my own, I can appoint whoever the hell I want to."

Marlee laughed at America's casual vulgarity. It must have sounded strange coming from the woman with the Queen's crown on her head. Marlee's eyes sparkled as she started to piece together what America was suggesting and asked, "Who are you going to appoint to your war council, then?"

"Well, I'd like to start with you, if you'd be willing. You were the people's darling from very early on in the Selection. I would love to harness some of your power, if you'll lend it to me."

"Of course!"

"Great." America smiled, relieved. "We'll be meeting jointly with Maxon's council sometimes, but mostly we'll be meeting a few times a week on our own, here in the palace. I'll send a note to you when I set the first meeting, and then I'll explain a little more about what we're doing."

"This is exciting." Marlee grinned. "Wow. You really think I'll be useful?"

"I know it." America said, wrapping an arm around Marlee. "I need people I trust around me. People who will be honest with me, even though I'm the Queen, people who care about _me_, and not just the Queen." She needed those people, because those would be the people who would care about her children because they were her children, and not because they were princes and princesses.

"I won't let you down." Marlee said. "I'm so glad I can finally start paying you and Maxon back for the endless stream of amazing things you've done for us."

"You're my best friend, Marls." America said, surprised. "You don't have to pay us back for anything. This is just what friends do."

"Friends sneak friends into the kitchens under assumed identities to spare them being cast out into the streets to live out their lives as eights, the wretched refuse of society? Friends do that a lot, do they? Then reinstate their friends titles in the middle of coronation week, the busiest week in history, even though they could have waited a few days and it would have been fine? Then let their friends live with them in the Palace of Illéa—"

"Good friends do all of that, Marlee." America nodded. She didn't like being thanked by Marlee and Carter. They were like family to Maxon and her, and where else would they want their family to be? As close to them as possible. As happy as possible. "We're just sorry we had to wait until Maxon was coronated King to do it."

Marlee shook her head at America and smiled, "Fine. Then I'm not paying you back for anything, if that's the way you want to be. I'm just being a good friend and citizen, helping my sovereign queen."

"Thank you, peasant." America joked and Marlee laughed. "I have to get back out there. Why don't you go meet up with Carter and Kile?" America suggested.

"Alright." Marlee agreed. "I want to see you soon, though. For real. You've been too busy lately, Ames."

"Yeah." America nodded. "Maybe I can get Silvia to relinquish you some afternoon this week?" She wanted to be sure to tell Marlee about the baby before the meeting with the makeshift war council. She wanted that moment to be private so that she could fully enjoy the look on her best friend's face.

"That would be great, we could skip work together." Marlee winked at her, gave her one more squeeze, and then hurried off to rejoin her family, now talking with America's family and the family of fives they'd been chatting with before. Astra and Kile were chasing each other in circles around the group.

America wandered through the masses of people, meeting and greeting the lottery families and welcoming them into her home. And then she found Georgia and August talking with Maxon under a pavilion across from her. She made her way over quickly and smiled broadly at her husband. "Are you joining me, my love?" Maxon asked, pausing their conversation for a moment as she walked up to them.

"Not yet." America said. "But I need to borrow Georgia."

Maxon stuck his lower lip out in a little pout. "Very well."

"Oh, and, um… Kenna's got a sneaking suspicion." America said, with a leading look into Maxon's eyes. He immediately understood. Their little baby secret was impossible to truly contain.

"She's sharp, your sister."

"Mhmm."

"Tell me about it tonight?"

"Balcony?" America suggested. It had been too long since their last evening on their adjoined balcony.

Maxon tugged his ear with a nod, then returned to his conversation with August.

"Can I have you for a moment, Georgia?" America asked.

"Yes, of course." Georgia smiled. She looped arms with America. "This is fun, by the way. All those years August and I were searching for the diaries, we didn't realize they were full of awesome party ideas."

"Pretty much." America nodded.

"Is everything alright, America? You and Maxon seem more secretive than usual."

"Secretive?"

"Well, maybe not _secretive_… But you two definitely have your own language, more than any other couple I know. A lexicon of little looks, tiny touches, and a few random words here or there; none of the rest of us could ever really decipher it. And it seems like you're using it in public a lot more lately."

"We've got a few secrets going on." America confessed. "I want to bring you in on them, though, that's why we're here."

"Really?" Georgia was surprised. She was used to America coming to her for advice on official matters, but America hadn't spoken to her about private matters in a long time. This baby was some odd combination of the two.

"Yes." America said. She gave Georgia essentially the same pitch she'd given Marlee, and received the same enthusiastic response. So now she wouldn't just be sitting in a room alone with Marlee agonizing over this amendment. She officially had enough people to make it a real war council. That was an encouraging start. America let Georgia return to August and continued on her rounds.

The most important attribute of an adviser on a war council is that they're in the Palace often. That way they can attend a plethora of meetings, even on short notice, without it becoming an inconvenience. Georgia and Marlee both met this criteria perfectly, which was good, because Kriss and Elise didn't. Elise would be brought in closer to the announcement of the amendment, once she'd taken her oath and become an official adviser to the King, so that she could help navigate the effect this would have on New Asia. And Kriss' advice and opinions had already proven invaluable in this effort, by giving her the idea to contact Nicoletta and model the amendment after Italy's laws. There would always be room at the table for Kriss, but Kriss wasn't local to the Palace. She lived a couple of hours away. There was just no way to put her on the council, officially.

Now, America could see Adele and the rest of Maxon's family joining the huddle that America's family had started. It was absolutely heartwarming, the way that Maxon's family had welcomed the Singers with open arms. America's mom and Adele were two steps away from best friends, these days. Nothing could have been better for Magda, grieving the loss of her husband, or Adele, grieving the loss of her sister.

America's eyes left her family and swept the party. Guards on the perimeter, alert but still enjoying the beautiful day. Palace staff joking and laughing with each other as they went about their duties keeping the party running smoothly. Stavros in casual clothes over by the dessert table, an eight-year-old girl with a long brown braid tugging on his arm and pointing him towards the cookies.

Wait, what?

America laughed at the image unfolding before her eyes and quickly made her way over to greet her husband's top adviser.

"Stavros, you made it." America grinned, having just watched Stavros sneakily hand a cookie to the girl and say, 'Don't tell grandmother'.

"Your Majesty." Stavros looked up, surprised. He gave her a little bow and the little girl with the long braid, mouth full of cookie, with some chocolate smeared on the corner, sank into the cutest little curtsey America had ever seen in her life.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Stavros?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Thank you so much for the invitation."

"I'm glad you could come. Is your wife here? Your children?"

"My wife is around here, somewhere." Stavros confirmed, "And we've been put in charge of the grandchildren for the day. Our children used this royal invitation as an excuse for an impromptu date night, I'm afraid. They're not here."

"Good for them." America smiled. "But they're missing quite the party."

"Yes, they are. You've done a wonderful job with this, Queen America. I especially admire the way your social calendar keeps with King Maxon's social policy. It's very nice to see a King and Queen work so well together."

"I'm glad you approve." America smiled between Stavros and the child still squeezing his arm. The little girl was gaping up at her, too scared to speak, eyes wide. Stavros had a little smile on his face, too. "This is Cathryn."

"It's very nice to meet you, Cathryn." America offered her a hand to shake, and Cathryn just stared back at it, shocked. America laughed and Stavros knelt down on one knee, with some effort, to be ear-level with the child, "Cat, shake her hand. She doesn't bite, I promise. If she did, I'd have been bitten long ago." That was certainly true. America and Stavros had spent plenty of time on opposing sides of issues since America first came to the Palace. Still, for the moment, they were united in their cause. It was nice to have him as an ally, at last.

Cathryn reached out her hand and placed it in America's quickly, before withdrawing it and hiding it behind her back, nervously.

"She has pictures of you all over her room." Stavros explained. "She and her older sister adore you. Their favorite game is to pretend that they are you and the Lady May on various backyard adventures."

"Grandfather!" Cathryn squeaked, covering her eyes with her free hand, cheeks reddening.

Stavros laughed, "Was I not supposed to say that? Then maybe you should speak for yourself from now on, and not give me the chance to embarrass you?" Cathryn groaned in reply.

From behind them a voice called out, and America turned to see a woman Stavros' age with steel grey hair, cut short and curled in along her jawline, accompanied by two more children. A girl who must have been the twelve year old, and a boy who would have been the ten year old Stavros mentioned back when America had invited them to the egg roll.

"Your Majesty," Stavros said with another little bow, "this is my wife Isla, our eldest granddaughter, Makayla, and our grandson, Ryland."

Makayla's eyes went as round as Cathryn's had, but she did manage a gentle handshake. Ryland, dressed in a lime green soccer jersey, was determined to impress her, and his handshake was firm. He gave a little bow of his head, too, mimicking his grandfather. "How do you do, your Majesty?" he said, trying to make his boyish voice sound deeper than it was.

"Very well, thank you, Ryland." America tried very hard not to laugh at him, but she didn't entirely succeed.

Isla, for her part, was elegant and sophisticated, both in her appearance as well as her speech. She was long and lean, and almost as tall as Stavros, which was an impressive height. She gave a simple, graceful curtsey and said, "Your Majesty." And then she stayed down, waiting to be addressed, following protocol to the letter. Even Silvia would have been impressed.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Isla." America said. "I've been very curious about the woman clever enough to be Stavros' equal."

"Equal?" Stavros laughed. "She far surpasses me in every way, your Majesty."

It was so odd to see Stavros laughing, in casual clothes, and surrounded by his family. America was glad that he was using the opportunity to relax. He had almost as demanding and taxing a job as Maxon, but with very few of the perks of being King.

"He's just being modest, Your Majesty." Isla rose and smiled warmly over at her husband.

"I wish I had more time to stay and talk." America said, regretfully. She liked seeing this family together, it gave her a real sense of where Stavros came from.

"That's alright, your Majesty." Stavros said, "Although, I would like a private word, if I may."

"Of course." America said, head tilting slightly to the side, curiously. "Isla, it was very nice to meet you. If I invited you for tea sometime soon, would you have room in your schedule to accept?"

"Oh, yes, your Majesty." Isla nodded.

"Good. I could use the help getting your husband to behave." America joked.

"I'll teach you everything I know." Isla winked.

"Cathryn, Makayla, the next time May and I go shopping in town, we are definitely inviting you to join us. We can always use outside opinions on what we buy." Cathryn's grip on her grandfather's arm was now so tight that her knuckles had gone white.

"Thank you, your Majesty." Makayla managed, with a disbelieving blink.

"Ryland, it was a pleasure meeting you-"

"Can I have your brother's autograph?" Ryland blurted out, then clapped a hand over his mouth, hard. He couldn't believe his own nerve.

For a heart-stopping moment, America thought that he meant Kota. Kota was still estranged from the Singer family, and probably always would be. "My brother?"

"Gerad." Ryland clarified, cheeks a bright red color to match Cathryn's.

"Oh." America laughed in relief. Of course he would be partial to Gerad. Gerad was just a little older than he was, but famous. Gerad was good role-model material for this kid. "You could go over and ask him, yourself. He's just across the lawn." Ryland shook his head, furiously. America nodded, understanding his shyness, "I will make sure to set something up." As a rule, they didn't let Gerad give autographs yet. They were trying to shield him from the fame for as long as possible. America wondered if a private soccer lesson from Gerad might not be an acceptable substitute. This kid was wearing a soccer jersey, after all.

"Shall we?" Stravros invited America.

"Not too long, dear." Isla reminded her husband. "You're supposed to be off today."

"I promise." Stavros said. He led America away from the dessert table and back out into the sunny gardens. They journeyed around some hedges until the rest of the party was blocked from sight and then Stavros turned to America and said, "His Majesty formally informed the advisers yesterday." So this was about the baby.

"I thought he was waiting until Monday." America said, surprised. Yesterday had been a Saturday, a weekend, though the advisers tended to work every day of the week. Still, most formal business was conducted Monday through Friday.

"I believe he was simply too excited." Stavros said, a hint of amusement in his tone. America could believe that. He was always anxious to impress the advisers, so if he could both share his exciting news _and_ impress them with his efficiency at creating an heir, he would take full advantage. "I did want to pass along my congratulations."

"Thank you, Stavros." America smiled.

"I do believe that you know what this means for your amendment, however. Our timeline is strict. Pressing. We need to get right to work."

America nodded. "It's not 'my amendment' anymore. It's Maxon's, and it's yours. It's 'our' amendment, now."

"So it is. I would advise meeting at the end of this coming week to coordinate the Palace's agenda for the coming months, until the announcement, at least. Things are going to need to be removed from your schedule, and from his Majesty's, and new items will need to be added."

"I understand."

"You might not like what has to be done."

"I am willing to do anything." America said, firmly.

"Good, that's what I like to hear." Stavros nodded. "I shall be in touch with your office, but I would expect to meet sometime around Friday, or possibly next Monday morning. Those are the first openings in the King's schedule."

"Mine, as well." America said, just thinking of her jam packed schedule for the next week made her tired. She was again wondering why she'd been so stubborn in blatantly refusing her husband's offer to lighten her schedule. She sighed, "But that will give me time to meet with my war council and come into the meeting informed and ready to make decisions."

"Your... war council?" Stavros asked, amused but also impressed.

"Yes, that's right." America nodded.

"Very good then."

"Was that all, Stavros?"

"That was all, your Majesty. I really am very pleased for you and the King."

America smiled as he offered her his arm. "Thank you." She took it and he led them slowly back to the party. "So are you going to stick around to advise this one?" America asked, with a quick glance down. "You have an opportunity, here, to have advised three generations of Illéan leaders. That would have to be some kind of historical record."

"Twenty years from now, I'll be long retired, your Majesty." Stavros chuckled. "But I'll be here in his or her more formative years, whilst he or she is training with King Maxon."

America smiled over at him, happily.

"Your Majesty?" he asked, unsure what the look on her face meant.

"_Or her_. _Or she_." America quoted, happily. "You actually want this amendment, don't you? You're not just going along with Maxon's and my whims?"

"My opinion could not possibly be less relevant, your Majesty, I serve at the pleasure of the King of Illéa." Stavros replied, dutifully. Then he cast her a look out of the corner of his eye and winked at her.

America laughed and squeezed his arm appreciatively.

As badly as America wanted to join Maxon at last and spend this beautiful day with him, she wasn't done greeting guests, and she wasn't done with her secret agenda of assembling her war council. She still had a team to put together, team 'amendment'. Team 'baby, boy or girl, because gender equality is good for everyone'. Team 'screw Gregory Illéa and his messed up vision of a woman's role in a monarchy'.

She spied Silvia hard at work overseeing the crates of fake eggs being brought out and lined up, soon to be hidden. America took a glass of champagne to offer the woman, and began to cross the soft, green grassy lawn to the older woman when Gavril stopped her for a quick interview and a string of compliments about the event. It was amusing, really. She did the whole interview with a glass of champagne in her hand, which would actually help quell any pregnancy rumors for a little while longer. She couldn't have planned it any better. Maxon would be thoroughly amused when she told him about it later tonight, on the balcony.

Finally Gavril released her and she caught up with Silvia, and offered her the glass. "You deserve this. You've outdone yourself, Silvia."

Silvia rose from the deep curtsey she'd sunk into at the sight of America and accepted the glass graciously because, even if she didn't want the champagne, she had to accept anything offered by the Queen of Illéa. It was in the protocol somewhere. "Thank you, your Majesty. This was an excellent idea, and you did very impressive work to make it a reality. I'm pleased I could help."

"Silvia… I don't know what I'd do without you." America said, shaking her head. "Not having Amberly to guide me was a major loss. It could have ruined me, as a queen, rendered me useless, but you were there for me every step of the way. You never left my side, I don't know what would have happened without you. I'm so grateful."

Silvia's cheeks were red as the roses on the bushes around them, and her eyes were wide and watery. "Your Majesty, it is my honor. I assure you."

America smiled. "I know it is. That's because you're a good one, Silvia. Do you know that secret project Maxon and I have been working on?"

"Yes, your Majesty?" By now, most of the castle knew that the King and Queen were working on some kind of secret project, but according to Mary, most of them suspected something to do with the Caste Dissolution Act.

"I'm putting together a council to help me work on it. Would you be willing to join that council? This is the kind of project I could never complete without your help. There's just no way."

A tear fell onto Silvia's clipboard now. "I would be delighted. Anything I can do to help you, your Majesty."

"Good. Thank you. That means a lot to me." Silvia was a force to be reckoned with when she put her mind to something. Even in the Selection, she'd been a powerful ally to have. America was so grateful to have Silvia in her corner for this.

America was about to go off and let Silvia get back to work, when Silvia's wobbly voice called out, "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"She would be proud of you. Queen Amberly. She would be so very, _very_ proud."

It was America's turn to choke up. Her hand flew to her chest, which had grown tight at those words. It was about as close as America would ever come to hearing Amberly, herself, say them. "Thank you."

Silvia nodded her greying blonde hair, copiously sprayed into place, with a curtsey, then cleared her throat, took a long drink, pulled herself together, and went right back to work.

The last person on America's list was Mary. She wanted to do this quickly, before it was time to hide the eggs. She wanted all of her ducks in a row so that she could enjoy the rest of the party. She looked for Mary, organizing the children into rows in front of the orchestra in preparation for the hiding of the eggs. America pulled her aside and said, "How is it going, Mary?"

"Very well, your Majesty. We have a good batch of kids."

America looked around the pavilion. It looked like barely controlled chaos, but she supposed that for a massive group of 100 children aged 14 and under, they were doing very well. "Good. I wanted to speak to you about something, if you have a moment."

"Of course." Mary turned to her, giving America her full attention.

"How's your schedule, Mary? I know that not replacing Anne has meant more work for you."

"I don't mind it, your Majesty." Mary rushed to explain.

"I know that, too. But I want you to be able to take all of your days off, I know that's been a problem in the past."

"Paige is much better now that she has more experience. I've taken all of my days off this year, so far."

"Good. I'm glad." America nodded. "Thank you for training Paige for me."

"Of course, your Majesty!"

"I… well, I might have another one for you to train in the coming weeks, if you approve of her. If things fall into place like I hope they will. Maxon wants me to take on more help, what with… matters."

Mary smiled a beautiful, bright smile. "Yes. Matters." she glanced down at America's tummy, happily. She and Paige had almost been happier than Maxon when she'd broken the news to them.

"Would that be useful? Some more help with me? I know I can be a handful."

"Never, your Majesty." Mary laughed. "But I would be happy to have an extra pair of hands."

"Okay. We'll see how it goes, then."

"Yes." Mary didn't have any way of knowing that America was actually waiting to see how loyal and discrete Esther turned out to be, but she trusted America implicitly.

"Would you have time in your schedule to attend a few meetings with me each week?" America asked, nervously.

"Attend, your Majesty?"

"You… you're very valuable to me, Mary. You mean so much to me. And you have your finger on the pulse of the staff at the Palace. You know what they're saying, gossiping about, experiencing… I'm going to need that, in these meetings."

"Your Majesty, It's not my place—"

"Please? If you have time?"

"I could make time, of course, but I shouldn't."

America sighed, "Anne isn't here to stop us." Sometimes Mary still reacted to situations as if Anne was standing over her shoulder, waiting to chastise her at the first instance of impropriety.

"No." Mary said, sadly.

"Please, Mary. I'm going to need your help."

Mary didn't look comfortable with the idea. In her mind, she was just a six. Still, she wasn't the kind to ignore a direct request from the Queen. "Of course, your Majesty." Mary gave a little bow of her head. "Anything I can do to help you."

America took a long breath of relief. It was as enthusiastic a response as she could have hoped for from Mary, she knew it. This coalition she was putting together was highly unorthodox, nothing like it had ever been seen before. But they were going to attempt to do something that had never been done before, so America had to hope that her brand new war council would be just what was needed. A protocol expert, a rebel, a maid, a fallen angel, and the Queen.

Maxon was waving her down when she returned to mingling with the party guests, so she quickly made her way over to her husband.

"Ames!" Maxon had a huge smile on his face. "My cousins want me to help them hunt for eggs. Can I?"

America smiled, thoroughly amused that he was asking for permission. "You know that means that you can't stroll through the gardens with me while we hide them?"

"I know." He pouted a little and stuffed his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his knees a couple of times.

America nodded, "Alright then. I'll take my garden stroll with my sisters instead."

Maxon's face lit up like the break of dawn. "Thanks, Ames. I'll make it up to you."

She didn't want to tell him that the look on his face was more than enough to make it up to her, because then it might be harder to convince him to go on an ice cream run that night.

Maxon joined the children, and some of the adults like Carter and James who were accompanying young children into the gardens to help them hunt. They were entertained by the musicians, and facing away from the part of the gardens where the eggs would be hidden.

America joined May, Kenna, and Marlee, each with a basket full of colorful, hollow plastic eggs filled with candy or little toys inside. They stayed together in their little pack, gossiping and enjoying the beautiful warm weather as they hid each little egg, working together to invent creative hiding places. Kenna kept giving America 'knowing' looks, but she kept her word about not saying anything.

The kids were adorable, chasing down those eggs, but Maxon was possibly cuter in his enthusiasm. He climbed trees where brave hiders had hidden eggs in high branches and bounded through the gardens with endless energy, handing eggs to Astra, Kile, and his cousins and they thanked him with hugs or, in Astra's case, by latching onto his leg and going for a ride.

America couldn't help herself. She knew Gavril's crew was capturing every moment on film to create a highlights reel for the _Report_, but she ran forward and took Maxon's camera from around his neck so that she could capture a few pictures for their own collection.

She turned the camera on and was utterly unsurprised to see several candids of herself taken earlier that day from Maxon's view of her across the gardens, the most recent one of her on Stavros' arm, laughing. Now it was her turn to snap a few of Maxon.

Kenna came over and looked past America's shoulder at the images she was snapping. "He looks good."

"Doesn't he?" America agreed, smiling.

"Is he excited?" Kenna asked, quietly. She was asking about the baby.

America nodded nervously, and tried not to be too specific with her answer in case anyone could hear them. "I never understood the expression 'overjoyed' until seeing Maxon getting ready for this… thing. He's brimming over with joy."

Kenna wrapped America in a tight hug. "He's going to be good at this."

If 'this' meant 'fatherhood', America had to agree. "They say that… this," America glanced down at her waist, "is the best thing I'll ever do."

"It is." Kenna assured her. "Though it will have stiffer competition with you than Astra had with me. I haven't done anything else with my life, to speak of, and you've already changed the world."

America clasped Kenna's hand with her own. "I just can't help but think that, as good as this little… thing is going to be for me, seeing Maxon experience… it, is going to be even better."

Kenna beamed over at her, then pressed a kiss to her temple just below the golden crown. "I'm so happy for you, Ames. You need to call me when you have time so that we can gloat about this. I'm always here for you, you know that, right?"

"I know." America said. "I'm sure I'll have a million questions, once I've had more time to process. It's only been a couple of days."

Kenna squeezed her into one more hug, and together they watched Maxon lead a parade of cheering children all through the gardens on a quest for candy and toys. America couldn't help but think that one year from now, Maxon would be cradling their brand new baby in his arms, offering it brightly colored eggs to practice holding, its motor skills still slowly developing. And that baby would be the future King or, God willing, Queen of Illéa. America took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. It would be a long road, from here to there.


	13. Chapter 13

It was monumentally unfair that, the morning after such a massive social success on such a massive scale, America and Maxon had to get right back to work bright and early. To be fair, Mary had to be at work earlier, and Silvia had to be at work at roughly the same time, but that wasn't the point, at least not to America and Maxon.

They had been so wiped out the night before that, no sooner did they stumble out to the balcony and finally have a moment to get off their feet and sit down together, than did America fall fast asleep on Maxon's chest and Maxon fall asleep to the rhythm of her warm breath puffing softly against his chest each time she exhaled. Avery, who was standing guard at their door for the evening, had to wake them up and insist that they go back inside at midnight, when it ceased to be safe to be out of doors.

Maxon was very grouchy about it that Monday morning while he, zombie like, searched for a tie to match his suit. As a prince, he'd had a butler dress him every day, but as the King he tended to dress himself, relishing the extra time alone with his wife. America, who had far more to do involving hair and makeup, got herself started by choosing her outfit for the day (she had outfits in both of their rooms because sometimes the Queen's suite was simply too far away from Maxon) and waited to summon Mary or Paige until the last possible moment.

They weren't really forming coherent speech throughout breakfast, they mostly stared, bleary eyed, into space while chewing their toast. However, America received a note from Maxon an hour later, when she was halfway through the Monday morning rundown with a distinctly run-down looking Silvia.

_'My Love,  
__You fell asleep during our balcony date (so did I). I demand a re-date. Tonight?  
__-M'_

America penned her response and handed it to the attendant maid, who was a young, pretty brunette named Jolie. Esther, apparently, had the day off.

_'M,  
__This is quite the inconvenience. It is not my fault that you were so boring, you put me to sleep. I shall require a blatant bribe to convince me to reorganize my schedule.  
__- Your Love'_

Silvia could hardly contain the roll of her eyes, though she did manage to do it in the end, when Maxon's reply arrived. It was just Jolie with an ornate golden tea plate containing a single strawberry tart. "The King sent this for you, your Majesty."

America smiled, surprised to find that she was hungry for it. Breakfast had only been an hour and a half earlier, after all. "Thank you, Jolie. Please tell his Majesty that I'm tugging my ear, then."

"You're tugging your ear, then?" Jolie asked, confused. Like she might have misheard.

"I'm tugging my ear, then." America nodded.

"Yes, your Majesty." Jolie curtsied and left.

America returned to the task at hand, dividing up the thank you notes between those she would write personally, and those she would sign after one of Silvia's assistants wrote them. This kept her from having to personally write over a hundred thank you's for over a hundred different families. Even so, America ended up unable to meet with Maxon for lunch, as she and Silvia worked to tally the total cost of the egg roll and prove that they'd brought it in under-budget. As soon as they did, Maxon's finance adviser would be able to make the final decision on whether or not there was room in next year's budget for another springtime inter-caste egg roll. This would be the true mark of their success. Throwing one good party is nice, but making it a yearly tradition is even better, especially for inter-caste relations.

Maxon didn't get out of work until after ten o'clock that night. America was waiting for him on the balcony, reclined in her chair. She hadn't needed the soft, pale blue silk dressing gown that night, it was perfectly warm enough for her to simply lie there and bask in the starlight in nothing but her white nightie.

When Maxon finally made his appearance, his hair was mussed, his tie limp and loose around his neck, his top few buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and his jacket slung over his arm. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"Oh, Maxon." America laughed a little at the pathetic state of him. "We can reschedule, honey."

"No, please." He shook his head, tiredly. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

"Alright then." America scooted over in her chair to make room for him. "I gave Mary an early night. She's worn out."

"Good."

"There's no one to disturb us." America sighed, happily. As Maxon slid wearily in beside her, she said, "When I was in the Selection, I hated the rule that kept the third floor private to the royal family. It seemed like one more in a long list of obstacles keeping me from you." Maxon kissed her, and though she always got a kiss at the end of the day from him (if she was awake when he got in), this one felt more like one of his apology kisses. Sometimes he'd kiss her, and it was like he was still apologizing for all of the difficulty they'd had in the early days of their relationship. For all the times he'd sought solace with Celeste or used his relationship with Kriss to spite America. For all the dumb teenager-y mistakes he'd made. "Maxon-" she began, reproachfully. She never wanted him to feel guilty about the way the Selection had gone. Not when she was the one who had kept him at bay for so long, overly-cautious after the number Aspen had done on her heart.

"Was there a 'but'?" Maxon asked, brightly. He was uninterested in her reproach.

"There was a 'but'." America nodded. "But now, I completely understand the rule keeping outsiders off of our floor, and I embrace it, and I wish we could extend it to the rest of the Palace and, indeed, the rest of Illéa."

Maxon chuckled and settled her onto his chest. "How was your day, my love?" he asked.

"Painful." America winced. "I signed our names no less than twelve thousand million times."

"You forged my signature twelve thousand million times? Good Lord."

"At least. I lost count at twelve thousand million and one." She felt him press a kiss to the top of her hair. "Remember my demand for infinite massages once I was pregnant?"

"Yes."

"Hand massage, please." America said, placing her right hand on Maxon's chest. He took it in his own and began to gently rub her palm, and all the little grooves between the bones in her hand.

"Ames, is that a bruise?" he asked, surprised, studying her hand carefully.

"Yes, it is. I bruised my hand, signing and writing thank you notes."

He kissed her palm gently, then continued to massage it with one hand while his other hand traced her spine. "You should tell Silvia soon. About the baby. She'll go easier on you, once you do."

"I don't want her to go easier on me. I wouldn't be half the Queen I am without her constantly pushing me to be better."

"I recognize the importance of dedication and persistance." Maxon said. "However, it might not be a question of what you want so much as what you need to keep this baby happy and healthy. Don't forget that being pregnant is your most important job right now."

"Don't say it that way." America shuddered. "It sounds so much less personal, less human. I know my job as Queen of Illéa is to bring this baby to term in the least complicated manner possible-"

"That's not what I meant." Maxon said, surprised. "That's how the advisers talk, not me."

"Oh. I thought they'd rubbed off on you." America said.

"No, I meant that being pregnant, making our little baby, is the most important thing you're doing right now. Way more important than thank you notes or balancing party budgets."

"You know what?" America said, surprised. "I agree." Maxon smirked a little, because that was dangerously close to a 'Yes, honey, you're right' which were four words he almost never heard in one sentence together. "I'll tell Silvia this week, don't worry. I was planning on it anyway." They lay still in comfortable silence and admired the stars. "How was your day, Maxon? What were you working on so late?"

"Eugh." He winced at the thought of it. "Remember when I mentioned that the Chancellor of the German Federation was looking to renegotiate our brand new trade agreement?"

"Mhmm."

"Well, now I know why, and I rather wish I didn't."

"Something dreadful?"

"They've had a little economic collapse over there, due in large part to predatory lenders convincing a surprisingly high number of German citizens to take out loans for luxury goods, then making those loans impossible to pay off. There's been a huge spike in unemployment and bankruptcy and they're working on getting it sorted out. The details aren't really important, I suppose. But to make the long story short, they've got the highest poverty levels they've seen this century, which means starving citizens. She was trying to renegotiate the tarrifs on food we import to the German Federation to make it more accessible to her people."

"We should do that, that sounds good." America said. "We can't tax people who can't afford to eat, Maxon, that's not right."

"I agree." Maxon said. "But without that tax revenue, our coffers are going to be significantly lighter. And we need that money for our social endeavors, or the Caste Dissolution Act is never going to hold up. What's the point of the large workforce of former Eights and current Sevens we have assembled to improve our infrastructure, if we don't have the money for the construction projects? They would be out of work, then our citizens would be hungry."

"But Maxon, if the citizens of the German Federation are really that badly off, then they're not going to be able to pay the tarriff anyway. Either way, we're not getting the money. It's just a question of if we'll let them starve or eat while we're busy not getting the money."

"And you say you're not ready to attend my finance meetings." Maxon smiled down at her, but it was a weary smile.

"Nah, I'm ready, I just don't really want to go." America smiled back up at him.

"As you can tell, it's a mess." Maxon sighed. "I'd much rather talk about something else. Did you and Silvia finish the finance report on the Palace egg roll?"

"Yes." America sighed. "We came in just barely under budget."

"Good job, Ames!" Maxon said, impressed.

"Thanks."

"It was a great event. I've never seen castes mingle like that."

"Hmm. That would be because they were people, Maxon. Not castes."

Maxon almost rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant, America, and you know it. I meant that I've never seen such a successful integration of people between castes. Everyone was interacting, especially the kids. Those kids had no idea who belonged to which caste. They were just out having fun, looking for candy, and making new friends. It was great."

"Yeah." America nodded. "That was really nice. I kind of wish my family had set a better example, but other than that-"

"Better example? What do you mean?"

"They spent most of their time talking with a family of Fives. I get why they gravitated together, they have a lot in common. I just wish they could have... bonded with a family from a different caste than ours."

"They did." Maxon said, abruptly. "Your family are Ones. They bonded with Fives."

"Maxon," America complained, "We're Fives and you know it."

"No, I don't know that." he said, letting her hand drop. She leant up so that she could look at him, confused about why he was upset.

"Maxon-"

"You're Ones, America. I don't like to hear you talk like you and I never married. Like I've had no effect on your life whatsoever."

"That's not what I meant, Maxon." America chastised. "You think I could somehow forget what an impact you've had on my life? You think that, every time I sit down to an enormous, luxurious meal here, I don't remember my life before you? Remember trying to fall asleep in agony because my stomach ached with hunger?"

"Of course you remember. Which is why you should also remember the difference, and remember that you're a One now, and so are they. You're different now than you were in Carolina, America, you talk about it all the time."

"So?"

"So all I was trying to do was admire your skill at intergrating social policy and the Palace event calandar, and instead I got slapped across the face with you blatantly pretending like I've done nothing for you."

"That's what remembering where I came from, and the foundation of who I am, means to you? My identifying with the caste I was raised in is a sign of disrespect to you?"

"It is when you identify with it more than the caste you're in now." he said. "It would be like telling everyone that your last name is Singer, now that it's Schreave. It's hurtful."

"If I'd wanted to keep my last name, that wouldn't have had anything to do with you, Maxon! I'd never have married you if I had some problem with you that made me not want to take your last name. Changing a name is a personal choice-"

"If you'd never changed it, I'd completely agree. Call yourself whatever you want, as long as you also call yourself my wife. But you did change your name. And you changed castes."

"Well, I'm sorry, oh King of Kings for not heaping upon you enough praise for your magnanimous bequeathal-"

"Oh, shut up." Maxon said, sliding out from under her and standing up.

"No, really, your Majesty, your _Majesticness_, I am in awe of your charity, elevating a mere commoner like myself and permitting me to share your bedchambers-" Maxon slammed the door to his room behind him.

America sighed, frustratedly. That hadn't gone very well.

She sat on the balcony for another minute but it quickly became clear that she was done with the stars for the evening. The view just wasn't the same without her husband to keep her company.

She had that familiar feeling of tightness in her chest that she associated with fighting with Maxon. It was dreadful, slow-burning, and heavy. Any time Maxon was unhappy with her, for whatever reason, that feeling followed her around. It was with her while she brushed her teeth, while she combed her hair and removed her makeup. It followed her into bed and laid with her where Maxon should have been. If she and Maxon didn't resolve it, it would follow her to breakfast and attend all of her meetings the next day. It would occupy her constantly until they made up.

She tossed and turned in bed, but as tired as she was, sleep would not come. Maxon was, apparently, experiencing the same problem, because sometime after midnight he knocked lightly on the door separating their bedrooms and then tiptoed into her bed, pulling her back flush to his front.

"You're a One." Maxon whispered into her ear.

"Yes, I am." America nodded. "And a Schreave."

"But I can only guess at how strange it is, balancing the life you had before the Palace with your life as the Queen."

"Strange and confusing and... sometimes I misidentify." America nodded. "Sometimes I still feel like a Five. And I know that's how my family identifies... maybe not May."

"No, she's all One, isn't she?"

America sighed, then turned to look at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Thanks for choosing me."

"You chose me, too." Maxon reminded her.

"Is that what love is? Even for people like 'Max' and 'Mer'? Normal people? Is love the act of choosing each other?"

"I don't know. It's possible to choose and not be chosen." Maxon yawned.

"Like I very nearly was. I chose you and you almost chose Kriss."

"I _never_ would have chosen Kriss." Maxon shook his head.

This was a revelation to America. "Why not? You loved her."

"...I loved her. I still do. But I was never _in_ love with her. I could have lived with her and been pleasantly occupied all the days of my life, if I'd never met you. But I did meet you, and that changed everything, and even though it scared me, it excited me, too. I never would have chosen Kriss, even without the rebel attack. I'd have knelt down in front of her, seen you standing right behind her, and I'd have sent her home."

"Really?"

"I've thought about it a lot." Maxon nodded, his nose bobbing against her cheek. "I knew I was your choice, even though I had a lot of questions about what, exactly, was going on with Aspen. I still knew I was your choice, and I knew you were mine. I never would have let you get away. I never would have chosen Kriss."

America sighed, the weight in her chest from her spat with Maxon already long gone, in its place, a warm balloon. They lay there like that for several quiet, snuggly minutes until America heard Maxon's breath even out. He was on the very brink of sleep.

"Maxon?" she whispered. She wanted to mess with him a little, just a little tiny punishment for letting his ego ruin their date night.

"Hm?"

"I want eggs."

"Tell Mary in the morning." he mumbled, it was barely coherent.

"...I want eggs now."

"Then go get them." he yawned, releasing his hold on her.

"...You won't go get them for me?"

"Nah. Sleeping." His face was smushed against her pillow, adorably distorting his words.

"Maxon?"

"Hm?"

"...The baby wants eggs."

This time he opened one eye and peeked at her. "Seriously?"

"Mhmm."

"You can't wait six hours, until breakfast?"

"I'm hungry now. For eggs."

"But Ames... Eggs are in the kitchens."

"Yeah."

"The kitchens are far away."

"I know." America sighed, as if wistful. "Never mind. I'll go, myself." She tossed her large, puffy duvet off of her body and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Just before her feet made it to the floor, though, Maxon's hand wrapped around her wrist to stay her.

"You won't call Mary?"

"I sent her to bed."

"Mmm." Maxon sighed. Then he sat up. "Eggs for my Queen."

America narrowed her eyes at him. "Really?"

"Really. How do you want them cooked?"

America smiled a little and leant in until her nose was touching his. "Maxon?"

"Hm?"

"I'm messing with you."

"What?"

"This was a test, you passed."

"A test?" he demanded, childishly.

"Yeah, I don't really have any pregnancy cravings yet. I was just messing with you."

"America." Maxon collapsed back down into her bed. "I'm exhausted. That was cruel."

"You're a good man, Maxon." America said, snuggling down onto his chest. She let a couple of minutes pass in silence. "Of course, now I really do want eggs."

"What?"

"Talking about them this much, it made me want them."

"...Yeah. Me, too." Maxon sat up, pecked her on the lips, and then headed off to the kitchens. It wasn't exactly a balcony date, but they enjoyed their little midnight picnic all the same. Maxon lit one of her candles and made eyes at her the whole time and everything.

When Mary came in the next morning, she found the King and Queen of Illéa curled up together, passed out on the floor with a burnt out candle, two empty plates and two used forks lying next to them.


	14. Chapter 14

America sat in her newly renovated office with the brand new doors to Maxon's office swung wide open. Now, from her desk, all she had to do was look up to see Maxon's desk mirroring hers, and Maxon looking right back at her. He was at a meeting, however, so America sat in silence, carefully penning four nearly identical notes on four small pieces of letterhead that read, across the top in elegant, gold embossed engraving, '_From the desk of the Queen of Ill__é__a_'.

_'Lady Marlee,  
__The honor of your presence is requested in conference room C at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning, Wednesday, the 30th of April.  
__With w__armest regards,  
__Queen America Schreave'_

She'd copied the wording almost verbatim from the notes Maxon sent out to his advisers when he called a meeting of one of his war councils. Still, it felt entirely weird to be addressing Marlee so formally, even in writing. Mary and Georgia, too, for that matter; both of their names sat atop two notes of their own. Silvia would tell her that the formality was necessary when addressing her friends as Queen of Illéa and not merely as 'America'. Respect for the office of Queen demanded this level of formality, and if there was one thing in this world America had respect for, it was the office of Queen. She spent every day of every week trying to do right by Amberly, trying to take care of this position that Amberly had worn so well.

There was a brisk knock, and America looked up in time to see a guard open the outer door and for Silvia, herself, to appear and curtsey quickly. "Your Majesty?"

"Thank you for coming." Silvia straightened up and crossed to America's desk as the guard closed the door behind her.

"It was no trouble at all, your Majesty, I was already in this wing attending to a few décor changes."

"Are we getting new décor in this wing?" America asked, mildly surprised. As Queen, she would usually have been informed about and involved in this kind of decision.

"We're rotating a few paintings in the hallways. There are different paintings for times of peace than there are for times of war, and we're still rotating out the war paintings."

"Hm. I thought these hallways seemed less menacing lately. I'd hoped I was just getting used to them, maybe growing more confident as Queen."

"I'm sure that's true, too, your Majesty." Silvia hurried to reassure her. America smiled at this. Silvia had been very close with Amberly, and very happy working with her, but America liked to hope that Silvia was just as happy now. America and Maxon certainly tried to show her more respect and consideration than she'd known under Clarkson's rule.

"Thank you, Silvia." America took a sip from the glass of water that Maxon insisted she have with her at all times, now. "I won't take up too much of your time. Maxon and I would like to invite you to dinner next week."

"I am happy to accept, your Majesty." Silvia smiled ever so slightly. They'd done a few of these dinners now, and it always worked out well for America because she got to hear stories about Maxon's childhood straight from the woman whose job it had been to keep him from yawning in the middle of greeting foreign dignitaries, or playing hide-and-seek in the throne room. Last time, America had gotten a fantastic story about Maxon, aged 8, trying to take apart one of the video cameras used to tape the _Report_ out of pure fascination with the lenses, only to dissolve into loud, inconsolable tears when he realized that he couldn't put it back together again, which was how Silvia, in her very first week as the Queen's social secretary, found him.

"Good, I'm looking forward to it." America smiled, wondering what stories she'd be treated to this time. "I also wanted your opinion on these notes. Do they look right?" America passed the stack of small, thick, freshly inked notes to Silvia.

Silvia read the one addressed to Marlee quickly, then flipped through to check that they were all the same. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the one with her own name at the top. "These look very good, your Majesty, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Good." America held out her hand and Silvia handed them back. America extracted Silvia's note and handed it to her. "That one's for you."

Silvia considered it, looking at it carefully. "This is about that project that you mentioned to me last weekend, your Majesty?"

"Yes, it is."

"A policy project?"

"Very much so."

"I've never assisted on policy before."

"Neither have Marlee, Mary, or Georgia." America pointed out.

Silvia nodded, not entirely reassured. Still, she collected her thoughts and carried on. "Very well, then."

"That's all, Silvia, I'll let you get back to work."

"Yes, your Majesty." Silvia curtseyed again. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at 10:00."

"Good." America smiled, watching her leave.

* * *

Paige came in to get America ready the next morning, this was definitely a black slacks, hair up day; and then America and Maxon had breakfast with Marlee, Carter, and Kile.

"Gee, America." Marlee giggled, pecking America's cheek in greeting when they arrived at the dining room. "When we talked about skipping work sometime this week, I had no idea we'd be taking our families with us."

"Yeah, but they're good eye candy." America joked, winking at Maxon who smirked right back at her. "We have handsome boys."

It had been a while since the Woodworks and the Schreaves had found the time to sit down and break bread together without anyone else around. It was simple and nice, the conversation was easy and there was a lot of laughter, given the early hour.

"No coffee, Ames?" Marlee asked, surprised. "Isn't that normally one of your mainstays?"

It was true. Ever since that very first, very late meeting between Maxon, America, Georgia, and August when Maxon had ordered coffee to help wake them all up, America had developed a penchant for coffee. If she had to choose between coffee (with cream and sugar) or sleep, she'd choose coffee every time. But Dr. Ashlar had sent over a long list of dietary restrictions to consider when planning meals, and high doses of caffeine, including coffee and some teas, were totally out.

"Normally." America said. "But Maxon and I are changing a few things."

"Like what?" Marlee asked, curiously.

"We're remodeling the third floor, for a start." Maxon smiled. It was true, he'd already drafted a plan for turning the empty bedroom next to the Queen's suite into a nursery.

"Cutting out caffeine, undercooked meats, soft cheeses, alcohol…" America smiled.

"Whoa." Carter said. "You're both cutting out alcohol?"

"Well… America is." Maxon smiled over at his wife and wrapped an arm around her.

Marlee's fork hit her plate, and her hands flew to cover her mouth as she rushed to finish chewing her previous bite. She obviously knew, and she was squirming in her seat as she worked to clear her mouth of omelet so that she could finally speak. "You're pregnant!" she exclaimed with a gulp, almost shouting.

"Shh!" America laughed, looking around. They hadn't put a guard on duty outside the dining room that morning because Carter was going to be eating with them. America was glad, now, for that foresight. She opened her arms wide and before she knew it she had two arms full of bouncing blonde girl.

She could hear, rather than see, Carter come over and shake Maxon's hand. "Congratulations, Maxon. This is great news." Carter's voice said. One look around Marlee's head to Maxon, and America's heart overflowed with happiness. Maxon was absolutely shining with happiness that morning.

Marlee waited out in the hall with Carter, who would be on duty outside of the King's and Queen's offices that morning. Maxon kept his fingers laced with America's until the very last possible moment. "Are you sure you don't want me to go to the meeting?" Maxon asked.

"They're _my _council, Maxon. I want to be the highest ranking person in the room." she winked at him. But she was nervous, and he knew it.

"Remember, this is just to introduce them to the concept of our amendment, and maybe brainstorm a few ideas to boost our poll numbers. This isn't… which region of New Asia to bomb next or which of the rebel's strategic resources to cut off. This shouldn't be too stressful."

He wasn't belittling her war council, although it might have sounded that way to an outsider. America knew that he was just putting things into perspective for her so that she wouldn't get worked up or overwhelmed. He kissed her forehead. "Thanks, Maxon."

"I'll be in my office if you need me."

"You'd better not have Maxwell spy on us!" America laughed as he walked towards the doors that divided their offices. Maxwell was going to be the guard on duty outside of the conference room where America's meeting was being held. Maxon had a reasonably close relationship with all of the guards who had rotations directly protecting America or himself.

"I may or may not." he shrugged, and then closed both doors behind him with a flourish. America laughed, endlessly amused by and in love with her husband. She gathered up the documents for the meeting with a sigh, gathered up her courage, and then stepped back into the hall. Carter seemed to be flirting with Marlee, but when America appeared, they both snapped to attention.

"Ready to go?" America asked.

"Yeah, we'd better." Marlee smiled. "We wouldn't want to be late. The Queen would be furious with us."

"Right? She could have us sent to prison for disrespecting her like that." America shuddered, then looped an arm through Marlee's.

* * *

Marlee sat placidly in her seat, waiting for the others to arrive. America paced back and forth at the head of the long conference table, going over and over the information in the packets that she was about to distribute to her council. It was the same data that Stavros had given Maxon and her, and she knew it all by heart, but she wanted to go over it just a few more times, to make sure that she was ready. She had the horrible feeling that she was about to butcher this meeting, Caste-removal-suggesting-_Report_ style, and she didn't want to have to tell Maxon that she was a failure as a leader. She needed to get this right, to reaffirm Maxon's choice to make her Queen, and also for the child currently growing in her body, who would benefit endlessly, regardless of its gender, from being born into a world where women are valued and respected on a level with men.

At exactly 10:00, the doors to the conference room opened again, and Silvia, Georgia, and Mary walked in. Mary looked extremely uncomfortable, keeping to the back of the group and visibly fighting off the urge to fetch a tea tray.

"Thank you all for coming." America greeted them as the door closed with an ominous thud behind them. No going back now.

There were name cards for each of them, so they'd know where the Queen desired them to sit. America had given the seating arrangement more thought than was reasonable, in the last couple of days, and settled on seating Silvia directly to her right, and Marlee in the seat to Silvia's right so that Silvia would be sitting next to someone with whom she worked regularly and with whom she was comfortable. And it might be good for Marlee's career to spend more time with Silvia, since Silvia would be the one deciding when Marlee got her next promotion.

To America's left, she put Mary because she wanted to keep a close eye on her Head of Staff. Mary wasn't likely to speak up very often in these meetings, but if it looked like she had something to say, America didn't want to miss it. Georgia would be seated to Mary's left, because she was vocal and unafraid to speak her mind, so having her a little farther away wouldn't cause too much of a problem. Also, America was hoping that Georgia would be less intimidating for Mary to sit by than Marlee or Silvia who both oozed decorum and 'lady'ness. Even so, they still only took up a quarter of the conference table, as there were only five of them,

When the others arrived, Marlee had jumped to her feet. Now they all stood, waiting for America to take her seat and start the meeting.

America was regretting refusing Maxon's offer for him to attend this meeting now. She was all jitters and nerves and one look from him could have calmed a lot of that for her. It was like in the old days during the Selection, when she was feeling nervous on the _Report _and she used to try to catch his eye, to center herself. America was just going to have to get through this meeting on her own. She cleared her throat, took her seat, and watched as the others followed suit.

"Um… How… How was everyone's morning?" America asked.

There were two 'very well's, a 'fine', and a 'wonderful' from Marlee, but at the end America was greeted with a unison chorus of 'your Majesty's.

"I don't want you to feel the need to use titles when we're meeting." America said, quickly. "If you prefer them, then obviously, I would never stop you. I just don't want them to get in the way of the work we're going to be doing in here. Call me, and each other, whatever you like." She had a feeling Mary and Silvia would be sticking pretty hard to the 'your Majesty', but maybe this would allow Georgia and Marlee some more flexibility.

America took a deep breath and dove in. "Right. Okay. Well, I guess the first order of business for this war council is… for me to inform you, officially, that… I am pregnant." she said. Mary and Marlee knew, and grinned excitedly. Georgia dashed up from her chair to run over and hug America tightly. "Congratulations. This is such good news."

"Because it puts one more person between August and the throne?"

Georgia laughed, "For starters. Oh, America… this is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

When Georgia moved to return to her seat, America peeked over at Silvia. The oldest woman in the room, with more experience in this castle and with this monarchy than anyone else in this castle or in this monarchy, had a blush to her cheeks and a restrained smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled, and even looked a little misty as she said, "Congratulations, your Majesty… I'm just… I'm absolutely thrilled for you, and for King Maxon."

"Thank you, Silvia."

"I take it this is a recent development?" Silvia enquired.

"Very recent. We're still at least two months out from an official public announcement."

Silvia nodded, then dug out her thick black leather daily planner from her bag and made a note. "We should meet to discuss your schedule."

"Early next week." America nodded.

"Tuesday?"

"Perfect." America nodded, then returned to the business at hand. "Well, so, that's out of the way. Maxon and I are going to have a baby, and we're working on getting the Kingdom in order before it arrives."

"Hmm." Georgia said.

"What is it?" America asked, pleased that her choice to seat Georgia slightly farther away was paying off. Georgia was having no trouble contributing from where she sat.

"August hinted that Maxon seems to be approaching the rebel problem with a little more zeal lately. I'll bet this is why."

"I wouldn't be surprised." America said. She hadn't noticed Maxon's renewed focus, but she was rarely invited to security briefings, which was where they discussed the rebel attacks. Maxon didn't like to worry her. "There's a lot on our minds, getting ready for this baby. But the most important thing, to both of us, is our little side project. We've been working on this for a couple of months now, and we've just gotten the go ahead from Maxon's top adviser, Stavros, to proceed."

"What is this side project, America?" Marlee looked over at her, curiously.

"I'm glad you asked, Marls. If you'll all open your folders to the second page and give it a read, I think you'll see." America encouraged. She watched, stomach in nauseated knots, as they opened their slick black folders and flipped past the title page stamped 'Classified Level 1' in red ink.

She had memorized what they were reading.

'_All natural born Princes and Princesses of Ill__é__a shall henceforth and evermore be looked upon as perfect equals in eyes of the law; the duties, obligations, responsibilities, and privileges befitting the natural born Princes and Princesses of Ill__é__a shall never be altered nor infringed upon on the basis of gender.__'_

She and Maxon had incorporated Stavros' alterations to their first draft.

Marlee and Mary both had their brows wrinkled, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what they were reading. Silvia had a frown on her face, her eyes darting back and forth, over and over, as she read and reread the amendment draft.

Georgia was the first to vocally respond. "Hot damn, America. Is this real?"

"This is real." America nodded. "This is the prize, ladies. No more swapping daughters with foreign nations like some kind of human trafficking flea market."

"And the potential for a Queen." Georgia said. "A real, live Queen."

"I'm a real live Queen." America objected, with a smirk.

"'Natural born' then, as this amendment puts it."

"Exactly." America nodded. "If Maxon and I have a daughter first—"

"She could be Queen." Marlee exhaled, stunned.

"Do you have any idea how much we Northern rebels used to complain about the Laws of Inheritance?" Georgia asked, leaning back in her chair, amused and impressed. "If there had been a Princess of Illéa in our time, we'd have made it one of our rallying cries."

"Well, I've made it one of my rallying cries." America said. "And so has Maxon. The Laws of Inheritance were put into place by Gregory Illéa to solidify his rule, and they've only been altered a handful of times since their inception. And only to reaffirm the Schreaves, once they… um, I mean, _we_ took over." That felt odd. That felt really weird. 'We' and 'Schreaves'.

"So it's time to pay some attention to these laws." Marlee said. "To make sure they're still working in the best interest of our country, now that our country has changed so much?"

"Exactly." America said, with a nod. Then she peeked over at Silvia. "You got quiet on me, Silvia. Are you still onboard? I know it's 'not the done thing', as I have been told on numerous occasions."

"It's _not_ the done thing." Silvia agreed.

America nodded. She'd guessed that she'd run into this problem with Silvia. "If you want out, just say the word." America didn't want anyone at this table who did not believe in the amendment. "I know you have more than enough on your schedule, as it is."

Silvia read over and over the paragraph in front of her, nodding her head slowly, her face inscrutable. Then she looked up at America and said, "This is perfect."

"It is?" America asked, relieved and surprised.

"I would have expected nothing less from you, Queen America."

"Thanks, Silvia." America breathed. Then she turned to her left. "Mary?"

Mary paled at being called out like this and her eyes sank to her lap, where her fingers toyed with the hem of her black dress. "Yes, your Majesty?"

"What do you think of this amendment?"

"I think it's very brave, your Majesty." Mary said, without a moment's hesitation. "And very risky."

"You're right about that." America nodded. "Do you want to help me try to make it a reality?"

"I… I want to serve you in any way that I can." Mary said. It was a maid's answer.

"I don't need service, Mary, not for this. I need _help_. I need a team, working _with_ me, not behind me."

"I'm sorry, your Majesty… I just _still_ don't see how I can help you."

America considered her closely for a moment. In this case, it would be so much easier to show her than to tell her all the ways in which she could help. It would take too long to convince her with words. "Then I am asking you to trust me, Mary."

"Trust you?"

"Trust me when I tell you that your thoughts and advice are going to prove invaluable to me, even if you can't see it now. Just trust me. Please."

Mary nodded, cheeks flushing. "Of course, your Majesty."

"Thank you. So Mary, is this the kind of project that you want to _help_ me with?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I think all of us in this room have benefited from your kindness, your generosity, and your unorthodox spirit." Mary said, looking around the table. "And so it wouldn't be very wise of us not to support those traits in you, now that you need our help."

America smiled at this, considering it. "That's good enough for me." She'd probably get more of Mary's true feelings on the subject when they were alone.

America turned her attention back to the rest of the group, "Please turn the page, ladies."

There was a lot to explain, mostly to do with opinion polls and statistics and the impossible task Stavros had laid out for them. If Maxon and America wanted to safely enact this amendment without threatening their rule, or the rule of their child (boy or girl), they needed to get their combined approval ratings up to 75%, and they needed to do it before America gave birth so that this law could protect the baby she was already carrying. From the looks on their faces, Georgia seemed to think 75% to be an outrageous number, while Marlee and Silvia took more of a grave, serious, thoughtful approach to the number, and Mary seemed to be wondering if such a thing was even possible. When America showed them the statistic that mentioned that only 30% of Illéans would support a princess inheriting the Throne of Illéa over a prince, there was a physical shift in the room. Shoulders visibly slumped under the weight of that news.

"So you can see why I need your help." America concluded, looking around at the four of them. "Maxon has been working on assembling a war council to meet and discuss the strategy for getting those numbers up, but… this is going to take a monumental effort, no one's ever done what we're trying to do before, either with the numbers or with this kind of amendment, and I want my own team working on it with me. That's why you're here."

Silence swept through the room. Silvia was flipping through the pages of her packet, eyes narrowed, her analytical and mathematically oriented mind going to work. Marlee was staring at the page with the 30% statistic, eyes glazed. Georgia wasn't even looking at the packet, she was staring off into space, and Mary was peering over at America, patiently.

"Mary?" America asked.

"Where do we start?" Mary asked.

America sighed, that was a very good question. "Well, Maxon and I are meeting with his council next Monday. You guys are definitely going to be a part of some of those meetings, but I want to go to this first one alone, just so I can get a feel for how they run." Mary didn't seem overly excited to attend a King's council meeting. Her training was, after all, as a lady's maid, and she'd always been a Six. "So, today, I just wanted to show you all what we're going to be working on over the next… eight months… ish…and see if you have any ideas about raising those numbers." America said.

"These numbers always raise when the royal family is expecting a child." Marlee said.

"Stavros mentioned that. We're going to need more than just my occupied womb space to get us where we're trying to go, though." America said.

"Usually, there's more access to the royal family when they're expecting a child." Silvia said. "That's part of the equation that leads to the bump in the polls."

"You're talking about the video specials that run on the _Report_?" America asked. "Designing the nursery, Maxon preparing for fatherhood, that kind of thing?"

"Yes."

"Stavros mentioned those, too."

"That will really promote a bond with this child, your Majesty. If the people feel connected to it, they'll be more likely to support it as their next King _or_ Queen."

"Okay, so… what should I do?" America asked.

"Really lean into it, when the time comes. Make the segments longer and more frequent, and devote your energy to making them _fantastic_." Silvia said, almost breathlessly.

"It sounds like you should be captain of the video segments." America said, amused. "We can't do any of them for another two months though, so keep brainstorming ideas and making plans, but keep that on the back burner. We have to find some way to get a jump start right now. Maxon and I need to gain 20 percentage points in the next eight-ish months. Which means I want to try to get five before we even announce this baby."

"_Five_?" Georgia asked, stunned.

"It's just a goal, we might not reach it, but what's the point in not really trying?" America said with a shrug.

Georgia conceded the point, "I was thinking… there's got to be a way of shoring up the middle-castes for you. They've benefitted enormously from Maxon's reign."

"I was thinking the same thing." Marlee said.

"What if you did merchandise, like the English and Italian royals do?" Georgia suggested.

"Merchandise?" America asked, not exactly sure what Georgia meant.

"Yeah. You know, plates with your face on them, tea cups commemorating the royal baby—"

"_Plates_ with my _face_ on them?" America asked, torn between laughing and screaming at the thought.

"It's a way to keep pro-Illéan sentiment in people's homes, even when the television is off. It reaffirms you and Maxon as figureheads. These collectibles don't cost much, they're shiny, and can be either useful or decorative. That's middle-caste, isn't it?"

"It sounds like it…" America agreed, warily.

"And, I know why Maxon is the only one who gets his face on a stamp—"

"You mean because he's the real royal, of the two of us?" America asked, amused. It was true, Maxon was the one with his face on the stamps and the money, because he was the hereditary King. Yet another right they were trying to win for royal women. The right to have a woman's face on money and stamps.

"Yeah, but you should see if you can't swing a 'Queen America' stamp series. It could raise funds for the postal service and be good for your image." Georgia suggested.

America was scribbling all of this down, now, in addition to noting Silvia's suggestions from earlier.

Marlee nodded, "That's all really good. And you should get May out there for you. The people adore May, possibly more than they adore you. Use her. And use Gerad, he's becoming quite the pre-teen heartthrob."

"Good, so when we try to change the laws to allow women to inherit the throne, the twelve year olds of Illéa won't violently exile us from the Kingdom." America said with a sarcastic eye roll.

"This is a battle for the future, America, not the past." Marlee said, simply. "Who do you think that baby is going to be King or Queen of, when the time comes? It's those kids, Ames. They're a front to this war, too. Winning them over now would be so helpful to your baby."

America sighed. "You're right." she realized, heavily.

"Besides, everyone likes Gerad." Marlee winked. "Think of all the middle-caste moms who think of him as a surrogate son."

"What about magazines?" Georgia said. "You could up your magazine presence. That'll help with the upper-castes. Grant more interviews or photograph sessions?"

"That's a good idea." Silvia said. "You could start that now, with recipes or fashion tips, maybe a makeup tutorial or two—"

"Or I could have May do it." America said, thinking that the idea of giving fashion advice to _anyone_ was laughable. She was, after all, the sweatpant Queen.

"Lady May would be superbly suited for such work, yes." Silvia nodded.

"And if there was any way to get these magazines into the hands of the lower-castes…" Georgia mused.

America shrugged. "I don't know about that, yet, I'll see if Maxon has any ideas. Mary? What do you think the staff around the castle would like to see?"

"We adore you, your Majesty." Mary said. America was about to press for more when Mary added, demurely, "But… um…"

"Go on." America smiled.

"We adore you because we see you every day. We know you very well, that's why we love you so much. You, and King Maxon. I believe Lady Silvia is right, more media exposure will be good for you, it will help sixes and sevens who don't know you to learn more about you, and I believe they'll love you once they know you better."

America nodded. "Good, alright. It's on the list." America looked at her now almost completely full page of notes at the front of her yellow notepad.

"But, your Majesty?"

America laughed at how nervous Mary seemed to look. Mary, who was one of America's closest friends, Mary, whom America had known since the day she arrived at the Palace, marginally longer than she'd known Maxon. "Yes, Mary?"

"You need to get out more."

America leaned back in her chair, the sheer surprise of hearing these words from Mary knocking her back a little. "Oh."

"I know that part of the reason you and King Maxon stay in the Palace is to stay safe, and part of the reason is because you are both tremendously busy, but you need to make time for your people. Go out and visit the shops in the village, hear firsthand how life in Illéa is changing for the better. It will be good for you, and for your image."

"I absolutely agree." Georgia said, nodding approvingly at Mary. This made Mary blush and also smile a tiny, pleased little smile. "And between August and Aspen, you and Maxon would be more than safe."

"Getting out more often would allow paparazzi cameras to have more opportunities to photograph you." Silvia said. "That would be easy publicity."

"And depending on what you're photographed doing, you could really help the community." Marlee said. "Maybe you could sit in on a music class at a local music school and help support arts education? Or visit a small clothing shop and support undiscovered designers."

"Maxon could get out on the field during a soccer game and kick the ball around with some kids, and that could raise awareness for after school sports clubs." America nodded, catching on and scribbling furiously on her pad.

"And Gerad would be perfect to accompany him on that trip." Marlee smiled.

"Mary, you're a genius." America smiled over at Mary, who looked distinctly pleased and relieved.

America ended the first official meeting of her war council to meet Maxon for lunch. When she walked into her office, he was just through the open doors leading to his office, sitting behind his desk, reading a security report. However, when he heard her come in, he jumped up and jogged over to greet her. "How was it?" he asked, eagerly.

America didn't say anything, she just smiled a tired, satisfied smile and held up her notepad so that he could see the miles and miles of notes she'd taken.

Maxon's beautiful brown eyes widened. "Those are all ideas?" he asked, impressed.

"Yep. All ideas."

"Wow. Good work, Ames!" he swept her up in his arms.

"Thanks." That praise from him sent her heart soaring.

"I knew you'd be excellent." he kissed her forehead.

"They were the excellent ones. I was just—"

"Leading them?" Maxon suggested. "Like some kind of leader?"

America laughed a little. "Yeah."

"See? What were we ever worried for?" Maxon laughed. "Enacting this amendment is going to be a piece of cake."

America didn't know about that, but for the first time since their meeting with Stavros, enacting this amendment felt remotely possible. And that was a major improvement.


	15. Chapter 15

"Ames." Maxon whispered. She could feel his breath tickle her face. He couldn't have been hovering more than an inch above her.

"What?" she asked, trying to sink lower under the covers.

"I think it's morning." he whispered.

"Okay." America mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

"I'm going to turn on the lamp and check my watch." Maxon whispered, and she felt the bed shift as he rolled over to retrieve his watch from the bedside table next to America's bed.

"Maxon Schreave." America chastised. The bed stilled.

"Yes?" he used his voice now.

"Is there sunlight?"

"No." he admitted reluctantly. If she'd peeked her eyes open and there'd been a sliver of light in the room, she was certain she'd have seen the King of Illéa poking his bottom lip out in a pout.

"No sunlight, no ultrasound. You know the rules." she reminded him, gently.

Dr. Ashlar had sent them a note the afternoon before. The sonogram machine was ready, and they could come over any time before noon the next day to have a look at their baby. Maxon interpreted 'morning' to mean any time between midnight and noon, and he preferred midnight. America had been very clear with him the night before, however, insisting that there be at least the beginnings of a sunrise before they went off to bother the good doctor. She'd employed Christmas morning rules on him. No sunlight, no presents.

"Fine." Maxon sighed, and collapsed back down on the bed. "But this is taking forever." he whined.

"Not even kings can command the sun to rise." America mumbled, trying to drift back to sleep.

"Hmm… I'm going to try it, anyway." Maxon said. America thought he was joking, but he slipped out of bed, threw open the balcony doors and yelled, "Get up, you lazy sun!"

America's shoulders silently shook as she tried to contain her laughter, "Maxon, hush!" she urged.

The guard on duty knocked briskly then cracked the door open. "Is everything alright in here, your Majesties?" he asked, tentatively.

"No, the sun refuses to rise for its king." Maxon reported, petulantly.

America sighed, giving up on sleep for the moment and sitting up in bed, duvet pooling around her waist to reveal her white nightie. "Weaver, is there a code number for when the King goes stark-raving crazy in the middle of the night and is really bugging the Queen?" America asked, as if nonchalant.

Weaver played along, grinning, "I believe that's a 3-2-5, ma'am."

"Hm. And what's the protocol on that, officer? Something to do with binding and gagging him until a decent hour of morning, correct?"

"I don't know, ma'am. Would you be willing to take over for him as ruler? Then we could just toss him into prison for the duration of the episode." Weaver joked.

"No way. If Maxon persists in his insanity, I'm moving to a district with warm beaches, cold cocktails, and no husbands allowed." America said, flopping back down on her bed.

"Very good, ma'am." Weaver chuckled, closing the door and returning to his post.

Maxon leapt back into bed with her. "I'm sorry, my love, I'm being insensitive, aren't I? You're pregnant, you need your rest."

"That's right." America said, blinking up at him. It was too dark to make out anything more than his outline.

"I'm just so excited. This is the only morning this whole week that we're both off of work, and we get to spend it together, getting our first glimpse at our first baby…"

America sighed and reached her hand up in the darkness, groping around until she found Maxon. She spread her hand wide and tried to cover his entire face with it. "Shh…" she urged. "The mother of your child needs sleep. Please let me sleep until breakfast, Maxon. I promise, this morning will go much better for you if you do."

He covered the hand on his face with his own, then tugged it down to his lips, giving her palm a kiss. "Of course."

She felt him shift, and lay back down on his side, pulling her into him. She was laying on her back and she felt his breath on her face. "Maxon?"

"Hm?"

"Are you staring at me while I try to fall asleep?"

"…Yes."

America sighed, exasperated, "I'm going to make you go back to your room!" How was she expected to grow a human baby in her body under these conditions?

"No! I'll be good, I promise." Maxon begged.

America licked her dry lips, shifted in the bed a bit to get as comfortable as possible, and then tugged her night dress up. "Sit by my knees, Maxon."

"Your knees?" he asked, as he obeyed.

She held out her hands for him, "Put your head in my hands."

"Is this a sex thing?" Maxon asked, innocently.

"Maxon!" America scolded.

"Sorry, no, because of sleeping."

"That's right, sleeping." America giggled a little. He was adorable, her husband. Well-bred and frighteningly well-educated and well-articulated and well-composed, and sometimes just so damn adorable that she completely lost track of what she was doing in the middle of doing it. "Lay on your stomach." America instructed. Maxon awkwardly shifted his body around so that he was at a diagonal on the bed, his feet hanging off the far corner. "Alright?"

"Mhmm." he replied, patiently.

She lowered his head to her bare stomach and laid his cheek there, then she brushed her hands through his hair a couple of times in a soothing gesture. "There. You and the baby keep each other company while I get another hour of sleep." She could feel his smile against her skin, and one of his hands came to rest on her hip so that his fingers splayed across the area just below her naval, where her uterus was.

America fell back asleep to a lullaby of gentle whispers and featherlight kisses and Maxon's fingers tracing patterns on her stomach as he told soft stories to their baby through the membrane of her skin.

The next time America awoke, there was a strong smell of coffee and bacon in the air.

"The sun rose, Ames!" Maxon's voice exclaimed in a warm and gentle rumble coming from about a foot above her.

America couldn't really manage a verbal reply, she just groaned, stretched, and then rolled over onto her stomach.

"There's cinnamon in the oatmeal this morning." he enticed. From his voice, it sounded like he was standing over her next to the bed.

America tried to mumble that she would rather sleep than eat, but the consonants never quite made it out of her mouth so it came out more like "iouaeaee" and a sigh.

"My intel has informed me that Dr. Ashlar is in the hospital wing for the morning."

This peaked her interest and she blinked her heavy eyelids open with effort. "Really?"

"So now if we went over there for the ultrasound, we wouldn't even have to be hopelessly rude and wake everyone up."

"What time is it?"

"A little after eight." Maxon said.

"You really did let me sleep." America said, impressed. It took her a moment to work up the stamina to sit up in bed.

Maxon brought her a glass of juice and perched on the side of the bed. "Another three hours." he agreed. "You needed it. But it wasn't easy and I think you owe me." he teased.

"Owe you?"

"Yeah. The baby and I had a conversation, and we agree."

"You and the baby had a conversation?" America asked, amused.

"I talked, it listened." Maxon nodded. "I told it to speak up if it disagreed, and it didn't say anything."

America laughed and kissed Maxon quickly on the lips, "And what did you and the baby decide?"

"We're choosing the movie, next time we see one." Maxon announced.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, the baby and I like action movies."

America rolled her eyes and took a long drink of juice. It helped dispel some of the grogginess. "I suppose that sounds fair enough. You were very patient this morning."

"And I ordered breakfast." Maxon announced, proudly. Ordering their food was usually America's specialty.

"Yes, thank you." America pushed the covers off of her body and swung her legs over the side so that now she was sitting next to Maxon.

"Mary was very quiet when she brought the cart in. She told me to tell you to call for her when you were ready to get dressed."

"Well," America sighed, clutching her glass with both hands, "I know you're in a hurry to get to the infirmary, but do you think I have time for a bath first?"

"Absolutely not." Maxon shook his head firmly. "If you take a bath, you'll have to dry your hair, too. I know how this works. We'll be stuck here for another hour."

"Hmm." America nodded. "Alright. Do you think _we_ have time for a bath, then?"

"...Oh, definitely." Maxon nodded, abruptly and completely changing his tune at the prospect of bathing with her.

"Yeah?"

"Of course, anything for my queen." Maxon grinned, nuzzling his nose into the side of her neck.

"You're a very generous king." America chuckled.

They sent word that they were on their way to the hospital wing and they walked, hand in hand, across the Palace. Sometimes it still amazed America that a place so big, so grand and ornate, could possibly be 'home'. How could a place where innumerable guards in full regalia bowed deeply to you every time you rounded a corner ever be 'home'? But it _was_ home. It was very much her home, and that was all to do with Maxon. Maxon could make anywhere feel like home for her, even a cardboard box.

"So, has Mary heard any rumors?" Maxon asked.

"Rumors?"

"Baby rumors?" he clarified, with a quick glance around to see who was nearby. One guard at the far end of the hallway, too distant to overhear.

"Surprisingly, no. The advisers have nothing to gain by leaking it to staff, Mary and Paige are impenetrable fortresses with my personal information-"

"I love that about them." Maxon smiled.

"Dr. Ashlar would lose his job. Silvia would-"

"Probably honestly rather die than betray a royal trust."

"Yeah, there's probably something in the protocol about betraying royal trusts." America laughed. "Georgia knows, but she can talk about it with August since he found out with the rest of the advisers... Marlee and Carter, obviously."

"Is that everyone?"

"Kenna. Oh, and a serving maid named Esther."

"How-"

"She's the one who brought you the tray with my little note, last week."

"A week ago today." Maxon marveled. Though it felt as if it had been ages, it had only been seven days since America and Maxon had found out about their royal baby.

"Do you know who I was thinking about telling?"

"Your mother?" Maxon asked, pointedly.

"I'll get around to it." America rolled her eyes. "No, I was thinking about Lucy. We should tell her."

"We absolutely should." Maxon nodded.

"Then our closest friends will all be in the loop." America grinned. "Aspen and Lucy and Marlee and Carter and Georgia and August." She liked to list them like that. Maxon had grown up so lonely, and she'd never had many friends herself. Now they had enough close personal friends to fill a list. It was very nice.

"Oh, America, I had a thought as well."

"Yeah?"

"Nicoletta will have your skin for her mantle if you don't tell her soon."

America pressed her palm to her forehead forcefully, "I completely forgot about Nic! You're absolutely right, I've got to tell her as soon as I can. The longer I wait, the more offended she'll be."

The doors to the hospital wing opened wide for them and Dr. Ashlar stood waiting for them, several folders in his arms.

"Your Majesties." he bowed.

"Good morning, Doctor." Maxon grinned.

"Right this way." Dr. Ashlar led them off to the private examination room America had been going to every Friday since she had stopped taking the birth control tablets. "How are you feeling this morning, Queen America?"

"A little tired." America reported. "It was harder to get going this morning than it usually is."

"Some days will be easier than others." Dr. Ashlar replied, sympathetically.

"That's all, though." America said. "No morning sickness or cravings or anything else I've been warned about."

"Well, the morning sickness doesn't usually present until around the sixth week, so it could be that you're shy of that mark." Dr. Ashlar suggested. He checked her chart quickly, "That's right we took you off the birth control tablets 30 days ago. You're not very far along at all, your Majesty."

"Oh. I was hoping you'd tell me that I'm genetically superior and immune to morning sickness." America grinned.

Dr. Ashlar laughed and motioned for her to seat herself on the patient's bed. He withdrew a sterile needle from a drawer nearby, prepped the skin on her arm, and drew just enough blood for a panel.

"Is this the machine?" Maxon asked, staring at a large rectangular thing on wheels, it appeared to be some kind of computer with multiple attachments coming out from it, and two screens towards the top of it. Maxon had turned away when Dr. Ashlar had gone after America's arm with the needle, which was when he'd noticed the machine. Maxon absolutely hated seeing America's blood. America didn't know much about birth yet, but she'd heard that it could be very bloody. She'd have to work with Maxon on his impulse to avoid her pain. When she went into labor, she'd need him leaning in, not out.

"That is a sonogram machine." Dr. Ashlar confirmed.

"Amazing." Maxon said, admiringly.

"It's very old technology," Dr. Ashlar acknowledged, "But it's still the best way to take a look inside of a human body." Dr. Ashlar turned to another computer-looking machine and placed her blood in a capsule that the machine then began to analyze.

"Wow." Maxon breathed, turning over to examine the whirring and blinking machine that was now screening her blood. "What's it doing?" Maxon asked.

"Checking her vitamin levels, protein levels, and giving me clues about how to keep both her and the baby healthy." Dr. Ashlar said. "That machine is how we found out that she is pregnant in the first place."

Maxon shook his head, humbled. It was surprising. America had always assumed that, growing up around these machines, Maxon would know all about them. "Maxon showed me a computer once... it knew what was inside all of the books in his library." America said.

"This is like that." Dr. Ashlar said, nodding. "This is going to find out what's inside of your blood."

America turned to Maxon and grinned and Maxon grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Your Majesty, I'd like to get your weight and measurements out of the way, if you don't mind." Dr. Ashlar said.

"Of course." America hopped off the bed and slipped off her shoes. Dr. Ashlar had her stand on the medical scale in the corner of the room and reported that she hadn't gained an ounce from last week.

"That's normal, this early on." the doctor assured them. "We'll start seeing subtle changes sometime in the next month."

America had to unzip her jeans and roll them down to her hips, then roll her shirt up so that Dr. Ashlar had unobstructed access to her midriff. He measured around her naval, then from the bottom of her ribcage to her hips, and reported that she hadn't changed by even a centimeter. If it wasn't for the machines in the room alerting them to its presence, that baby would be wholly undetectable.

"When will she start to show, Doctor?" Maxon asked, eagerly. America knew he wanted to get his hands on a baby bump as soon as possible.

"Well, that depends." Dr. Ashlar said, winding his tape measure back up neatly. "It varies widely, but I would expect to see the first emergence of a bump somewhere around week twelve."

Maxon's brow furrowed. He'd been hoping for something sooner than the end of the first trimester. America was a little bit disappointed, too. "Why does it take so long?" America asked.

Dr. Ashlar smiled kindly at them and his tone was very patient, "Babies start out as microscopic masses of cells, and by the time they're big enough to cause your uterus to stretch and a bump to appear on your waistline, they've already developed ears, eyes, bones, and reflexes that move those bones. That baby is growing very, very fast. But it starts off very, very small and it has a long way to go." The doctor looked, amused, between Maxon's wondering expression and America's wondering expression. They were both stricken with awe. "Shall we take a look inside and figure out exactly how far along you are?"

America looked over at Maxon eagerly and he grinned down at her. "Yes, please." America answered for the both of them.

The machine didn't seem to be difficult to operate. Dr. Ashlar flipped a switch and it hummed to life. One twelve inch screen faced the doctor, another pivoted out so that Maxon and America could see it. America was instructed to lay back on the bed and leave her shirt up and her jeans rolled down.

"King Maxon, would you like to assist me?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"Of course!" Maxon said, eagerly. Nothing made King Maxon act more like young, curious, adorable Prince Maxon quite like talk of this baby, America was learning.

"Hold out your hand." Dr. Ashlar instructed, and Maxon held his palm out flat. Dr. Ashlar picked up a tube of something, unscrewed the top, and then squirted it onto his hand. "This gel helps the machine." he explained. "Warm it between your hands and rub it onto your wife's skin for me, please. Just below her naval. Very good." Dr. Ashlar supervised while he continued to set up the machine and type a few things in.

Maxon grinned at America as he painted her lower abdomen with gel, "How does it feel?"

"Same as it does on your hands." America grinned back. She'd known that this experience would be amazing, but watching Maxon experience it was a hundred times more amazing.

"You can use the sink in the corner to rinse your hands off, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar said. "Very good work on the gel application, sir."

"Thank you, Doctor." Maxon laughed.

"You'd make an excellent assistant, if you ever take a break from being King, sir."

"I'll keep that in mind." Maxon was kidding, but he really did seem pleased at the thought. Anyone who was his father's age telling him that he did something well tended to do that to him, and it broke America's heart just a little bit, how desperately Maxon still craved that approval.

"I advise you to hold your wife's hand now, sir."

"Right." Maxon said, coming back over to his original position beside her bed. His hand was cold from the water he'd used to wash it.

"Ready?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"Yes." America said, sounding a hundred times more confidant than she felt. What if something was wrong? What if the baby was gone? What if there never had been a baby, and the blood test had been wrong? Maxon must have been having similar thoughts, because his hand gave hers a nervous squeeze.

Dr. Ashlar picked up an extension to the sonogram machine that he called the 'wand' and held it on her lower belly. "Let's have a look, here..." he said, moving the wand around for a moment. Maxon and America glued their eyes to the screen facing them. It was full of black, white, and grey blurs, moving as the doctor moved the wand. "Here we are." Dr. Ashlar announced, with a smile, and the wand stopped moving. A few clicks of a button on the computer, and the image zoomed in.

It was hard to tell what they were looking at. There were layers of white, grey, and black on the screen that America figured must be various layers of skin and muscle.

"Do you see that large black circle in the middle of the image?" Dr. Ashlar asked, noting Maxon's and America's puzzled faces.

"Yes." Maxon said. It was the largest mass of solid color on the screen.

"That's Queen America's uterus. Where your baby lives. Look at the bottom right of the big black mass. What do you see?"

"A little, round, grey blob." America said. It felt like painting lessons with her father. When he was trying to teach her painting, he'd always point at random things and ask her what she saw. Her answers usually amused but never quite satisfied him in the way that May's answers would.

"Yes, your Majesty. That little, round, grey blob is your baby." Dr. Ashlar announced.

Maxon blinked. America blinked. Their mouths fell wide open. "Oh." Maxon said, surprised.

"_That__'__s_ our baby?" America asked, surprised to find her voice wavering and unshed tears in her eyes.

"Yes, indeed, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar smiled. "King Maxon, would you like to hold the wand for a moment?"

"Yes." he rasped, placing his hand where Dr. Ashlar's was, and then taking over the wand. Unlike Dr. Ashlar's surgeon-steady hands, Maxon's hands were shaking like leafs at this first glimpse of his brand new baby. He lost track of the blob and got lost in America's internal organs. "Oops." Maxon said.

"That's alright, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar guided Maxon's hand back to the right spot. Their blob baby reappeared. "There you go. You can move the wand around a little bit, but the baby is still so small that this is pretty much our only option for angles right now."

"Ames, look." Maxon breathed, staring at the screen.

She was looking. She was looking very hard, right into Maxon's beautiful, round, awestricken brown eyes. "I know." America breathed.

Maxon turned back to Dr. Ashlar, "This machine is amazing, Dr. Ashlar."

"Isn't it?" Dr. Ashlar agreed. "Here, I'll take over again, if you're ready."

Maxon released the wand and seized America's hand again. His hands were still cold and shaking, and America stroked her thumb against his skin soothingly.

"Alright," Dr. Ashlar said, pressing a button on the machine. "I think this angle is a winner for the printed picture, don't you?"

"The printed picture?" America asked.

"I'll print a picture of this so that you and the King can have a good, long look later, your Majesty."

"Oh..." America was too overwhelmed to register how wonderful this sounded. Everything was wonderful. Everything was perfect. She and Maxon had a blob baby.

"Now then," Dr. Ashlar continued, "Based on the development I'm seeing here, I would put you..." he paused, looking the mass over carefully, "Hmm... just shy of four weeks. Maybe three weeks and four days? Five days?"

"You can really pinpoint it so accurately?" America asked, surprised.

"Like I mentioned before, there's a lot of development happening this early on. Each milestone is a major one. In the last trimester, there's less development and more growth, so it gets a little more obscure. Some babies get bigger, faster, but it's hard to speed along the development of ears, eyes, or in this case, vertebrae."

"Three weeks... but you only commandeered me two weeks ago." Maxon said to America, thinking back to the days they'd devoted to each other under the guise of making an heir.

America's eyebrows rose, "I guess I was already pregnant..."

"Wow. Very efficient work, Ames." Maxon joked, but he really was impressed.

"This must have happened... very quickly after taking me off of the birth control tablets." America marveled.

"Those fertility tablets we gave you are no joke, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar nodded. "We're very good at this."

"Yes, well done, team." Maxon beamed.

Dr. Ashlar laughed and then turned the sonogram machine off. He handed America a tissue to wipe off her bare midriff. "Just doing a quick calculation, here, I'd say we could expect to see a royal baby make an appearance... anytime after the second week of December. Let's just say the 15th, to put my estimate squarely in the middle."

"Wow." Maxon grinned. He liked imagining that. "We'll have a brand new baby for Christmas!"

"It could be a little earlier, but I would be surprised." Dr. Ashlar said. "First time mothers are notorious for carrying over the due date. I would be entirely comfortable with your delivering anytime in late December, your Majesty." he said to America.

It was more than she could wrap her mind around. It was already the first week of May. By the end of December, she'd be a mother.

"Will you update that due date as the baby develops?" Maxon asked. "We need to stay as exact as possible for some... work we're doing." Maxon looked at America importantly and America nodded. They needed as accurate a cutoff date as possible for their work on the amendment.

"Of course, your Majesty."

The rest of the appointment was a little bit of a blur, to America. Her blood panel came back in excellent shape. She was borderline anemic, which accounted for some of her tiredness, so Dr. Ashlar upped the iron level in her daily vitamins and recommended that she add another portion of red meat to the Palace menu every week. Other than that, she and the baby were both the pictures of health. Dr. Ashlar advised that she drink plenty of milk, along with the water she was constantly sipping on these days, to keep her calcium level high. Maxon vowed to help on that front.

And just like that, they were done. Maxon tucked the tiny image of their tiny child in his front suit pocket and then he led America away from the hospital wing.

"Are you alright, America? You've gone quiet." Maxon had the widest smile on his face.

"I can't believe it. There's really a baby in there." America said, stunned.

"Of course there is." Maxon said, surprised.

"Well... there's a difference between knowing something... and seeing it with your own eyes." America explained. "I'm stunned."

"Would an action movie help you process?" Maxon offered, impishly.

It took America a second to hear the question, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts, but when she did, she laughed. "I suppose I do owe you one."

"Me and the baby." Maxon nodded, wrapping an arm around her and steering them off in the direction of the movie theater. "December, Ames. A December baby."

America nodded and took a gulp of air. December. "A December amendment, too."

Maxon peered down at her, soberly. "We'll get it done, America. We'll change the world, and then have a baby, and then open Christmas gifts. Just like that. You'll see."

She had to trust him. He still knew so much more about laws than she did, and she didn't believe he would ever purposefully mislead her. Still, she was worried. Seven and a half months. The clock was now, officially, ticking.


	16. Chapter 16

On Monday afternoon, America and Silvia sat in America's office with the median doors leading to Maxon's office closed. Maxon had been in a meeting with Aspen about Palace security all day. Both men were more anxious than usual to tighten security and reduce rebel incursions now that America was pregnant. It was like having not one, but two overly-protective husbands.

America and Silvia were setting the agenda for the week, and discussing the various successes of last week when Maxon knocked on the door and popped in. Silvia leapt up from her seat and sank into a obsequious curtsey.

"Are you ready, America?"

"Yes." America said, standing. "We'll finish this tomorrow." she said to Silvia.

"Absolutely." Silvia nodded, standing up.

America straightened up her desk, picked up a folder of briefing material that she'd read through the previous night to get ready, and then crossed over to Maxon.

"How do I look?" America asked, nervously.

"Gorgeous." he assured her.

"Like a queen?" America, Mary, and Paige had been very specific this morning, choosing the exact dress and exact shoes, the exact makeup and exact hairstyle to make her look the most like a queen.

"Now that you say it, it's the strangest thing." Maxon said, offering her his arm. "You do look like a queen. You look just like the Queen of Illéa, has anyone ever told you that?" he joked. To him, she was the Queen and however she dressed was the perfect way to dress like a queen. If anyone ever dared tell him otherwise, he'd have them banished. America was his queen, and the clothes on her body were utterly insignificant to her status. In fact, he preferred her with no clothes at all, but not even kings can get their _every_ wish granted.

America rolled her eyes at him and looped their arms. "I suppose I was really trying to evoke more of your mother today. I'm even wearing her pearls." America said, looking down at the string of pearls around her neck. She had a small but growing collection of Amberly's jewelry, given to her on birthdays, anniversaries and special occasions by Maxon.

"Ah, well, in that case, you look splendid, my love." Maxon relented. "You are doing my mother proud, and the advisers are going to adore you."

America nodded, gratefully, and tilted her chin up, trying to look braver than she felt. Today was the first meeting of 'the King's war council to advise on the drafting of amendment legislation for the laws of inheritance', but since that would make a ridiculous acronym, something like K.W.C.A.D.A.L.F.L.O.I., and because the 'amendment legislation for the laws of inheritance' part was still classified information, they were calling it 'The Council' for short.

When Maxon and America arrived in conference room A, there were several advisers already present, including Gavril Fadaye. They bowed upon Maxon's and America's entrance, and then quickly returned to their milling around and pre-meeting chatting.

This conference room was much larger and more imposing than conference room C, where America met with her own council the previous week. She turned to look at Maxon, eyes wide with worry and he gave her a reassuring smile. A smile that said to her, 'I'm here, I'll be right by your side, I love you, and I'll never let you fall'. This was a prime example of that special, secret language Georgia had alerted America to at the Palace Egg Roll.

America had gone to council meetings before, but never one of this size or caliber. She could suddenly understand so clearly young Prince Maxon's anguish and anxiety as King Clarkson publicly and repeatedly humiliated the Prince in this very room, in front of such seasoned, revered council members. She wondered what it had been like for him, the very first time he attended a meeting in conference room A. Had Maxon been this nervous? Had Clarkson been horrible? What had they been meeting about? How old had Maxon been? America turned to her husband, who was setting up his spot on a slightly raised platform just large enough for his and America's chairs. They didn't sit at the head of the table, instead the seats of honor in this room were placed in the spots nearest the door at the long side of the conference table, so that the King and Queen could exit first, before the advisers started milling around after the meeting.

Maxon seemed to feel her stare on the back of his head and turned to smile at her. Since they were at an official meeting, as King and Queen of Illéa, they weren't supposed to physically touch any more than necessary out of respect for royal decorum, and they weren't supposed to discuss anything that wasn't on the agenda. So she tugged her ear. He did the same. She'd ask him about his first meeting over dinner that night.

Stavros walked into the room briskly, carrying his own briefing file in his arms. He bowed to Maxon and then to America, then he moved to the other side of the room to speak with Gavril.

America decided to copy Maxon and set up her space for the meeting. She stood next to him and he passed her a very nice pen and a pad of thick, lined paper to take notes on. "Usually I'm all alone up here." he said, out of the corner of his mouth, referencing the small platform, about six inches off of the ground, that they were perched on. "It's nice to have some company."

She smiled over at him and gave him a wink. The door behind them opened again and this time Aspen walked in and bowed, deeply, from the waist.

"Aspen?" America asked, surprised. She could feel her whole face light up, but she didn't know how to hide that, not when it came to Aspen Leger. Maxon nodded to Aspen and went off to speak with Stavros at the other end of the room, presumably to discuss the agenda for the upcoming meeting.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty." Aspen said, straightening up. He always said 'your Majesty' with an ironic little smile. If it wasn't for Aspen, America wouldn't be anyone's 'Majesty'. The whole reason she'd agreed to enter the Selection in the first place was to secure her future with Aspen.

"What are you doing here? Weren't you in meetings with Maxon all morning?"

"I was. I'm here to give a cost estimate on additional security that might go along with potential endeavors… basically, if you start going out into Angeles more often, and Maxon said you might, then I'm here to tell them how expensive it will be to secure you while you're out, in money and man power."

America smiled up at him, meeting his green eyes eagerly, "I'm so glad you're here. I thought Maxon's would be the only really friendly face at the table."

"Actually, Maxon has me seated to your right. Or, I should say, 'his Majesty' has me seated to your right." Aspen corrected himself. Aspen and Maxon had grown so close over the years, bonding first over their mutual love of America, though Aspen's was a different kind of love. They both adored their families and were completely devoted to serving their country, and so their strange friendship had grown from the mutual respect and admiration they had for each other.

"I'm sitting between you and Maxon?" America clarified with a smile. "I'll be well-defended, then. Even if it's just from verbal attacks." Another example of her two overly-protective husbands being overly-protective. "How's Lucy?"

"Great." Aspen grinned, lighting up at the mention of his wife. "As big as a house." Lucy was expecting their first baby in about three weeks time, and America could not possibly have been more excited.

"I need to see her." America grabbed Aspen's wrists, emphatically. "I need to see her before she has the baby."

"She's anxious to see you, too. She misses you."

Lucy usually liked to come by the Women's Room, at least a couple of times a month. However, since her pregnancy, she'd been sick, and then tired, and then sick and tired, and she'd been staying home most of the time to take care of herself.

America smiled at Aspen, "I miss her, too. I miss having you both in the Palace all the time, that really spoiled me. Have you told her that her baby is about to get a royal baby playmate?"

"I can't. It's illegal." Aspen said with a little shrug. "I found out about it through my position as the King's Adviser on Security. It's against the law for me to tell. Now, if you'd told me as a _friend_—"

"Don't start." America said, shaking her head. "May doesn't even know yet, don't take it too personally that you found out in an adviser meeting."

"May doesn't know?" Aspen asked, amazed. "Why not?"

"Because… I don't know. I guess I just don't want… I'm not looking forward to being smothered by May, or especially by Mom."

"You should give them the chance to help you, Mer." Aspen said, and America smiled at the old nickname.

"I know."

"Do you know what Lucy would give to have a family like yours right now? A mother and sisters to help support her? I mean, don't get me wrong, my family has been amazing, and her dad has done the best he can, but it's not the same. You're so lucky, Mer, you have no idea."

"Pretty sure guilting me about it isn't good for the baby, Aspen." America said, her cheeks flushing and her stomach twisting into a guilty knot. It wasn't that she didn't want her family to know. Kenna knew, and it was perfectly lovely having Kenna know. There was something else… something America wasn't quite in-touch with, that made her reluctant to tell the others.

"Alright, I'm sorry." Aspen relented. "But tell them soon, okay?"

"I know. I will." America promised. "And I want to tell Lucy, too. Do you think we could all have lunch or something? On a weekend, maybe, so that you can be with her for the drive to and from your house?" Maxon and America tried to give Aspen weekends off as often as possible. Advisers were always on call, so it wasn't easy, but they did their best.

"I think she could be persuaded." Aspen grinned.

"Oh, Aspen." America breathed, smiling. "You're going to be the _best_ father. And that baby is going to be _so_ beautiful."

"I know. Just look who it has for a mother." Aspen laughed.

"I can't wait to hold it." America said, almost giddily. Lucy didn't have the same access to sonogram machines that America had, so Aspen and Lucy still didn't know if the baby was a boy or a girl. The lack of prenatal medical care for the majority of Illéan women was a big problem that America had been working with provincial leaders for two years to correct. Progress was slow. Machines were rare, and proper vitamin supplements and health screenings were expensive. Still, America was so pleased with and proud of the difference they were making in the lives of women and babies all throughout Illéa. She bragged about it to Maxon all the time. "I better know the _second_ it's born, because I'm coming over."

"Good." Aspen smiled.

From behind her, America felt Maxon's hand on the small of her back. They weren't supposed to be touching at this meeting, but she supposed she didn't know how Maxon could resist. Not when she was standing over here, grasping Aspen's wrists like this. There was no competition between the men anymore, that was long over, but occasionally Maxon liked to do victory laps, just to remind himself that he'd won.

"We're ready to start." Maxon said, softly.

America released Aspen and looked around the room. The head financial adviser, Jepsen, the public opinion adviser, Renken, and the social affairs adviser, Vesta, had all entered the room while America had been speaking with Aspen. They were now standing around the table along with Stavros, to Maxon's left, Gavril at the head of the table to Maxon's and America's left, and about five other men America had never been introduced to before. Probably lower-level advisers and maybe a researcher or two. It was hard to ignore the fact that she was the only woman in the room, not to mention the fact that most of these men were twice her age.

America nodded to Maxon and he guided her gently to their slightly elevated seats at the table. Aspen moved to stand behind his seat to America's right. For once, America was taller than him.

Maxon stood right behind America, his presence incredibly reassuring. According to protocol, she had to take her seat before even the King of Illéa could be seated. All eyes in the room were on her, and she drew herself up to her full height with a steadying breath. She sank into the chair and Maxon pushed it in for her, then moved to her left and took his own seat. As one, a cacophony of chairs scraped against the floor as a dozen or so men took their seats.

"Thank you for coming." Maxon said, in his King voice. The deeper, more commanding voice. It was the first time America was really noticing it, but he also had a different posture when he was being 'King Maxon'. Taller, with squared shoulders and his chin raised up. She'd have to add that detail to her impression of him.

Around the table there was an echo of 'you're welcome, your Majesty's.

Stavros took over, "You should all have a copy of the Palace's calendar for the next three months, as well as the King's and Queen's calendars for the next month." That had been a scramble to put together, America remembered with a smirk. She and Silvia usually planned their weeks on Mondays, one week at a time, with the exception of large Palace events like the Egg Roll or the Grateful Feast or the Winter Ball. When Stavros sent over the note asking for them to send to him a preliminary copy of their next _month__'__s_ schedule, the look on Silvia's face had been downright comical. If only America had had one of Maxon's cameras handy to forever capture the stunned expression of horror mixed with panic.

Around the table, folders were opened and pages were turned. Maxon and America did the same, flipping to have a look at the calendars before them. They'd already read through everything in the packet, extensively, in preparation for this meeting. Some of the packet, America and Maxon had read through together… in Maxon's bathtub… by candlelight. Even so, they knew what was inside.

Stavros continued, "The purpose of this meeting is to outline a unilateral course of action, coordinated between the King's office and the Queen's office, for the next three months leading up to the public announcement of the royal baby, that will bolster and elevate the King's approval ratings, the Queen's approval ratings, and the King's and Queen's joint approval ratings, in addition to improving potential public support for amendment S-19, the proposed amendment to the laws of inheritance equating hereditary princes and hereditary princesses in duty and privilege. Castor, read that back."

A young man sitting at the far right corner of the table, who was making a note of everything Stavros was saying, and would presumably be noting everything everyone said for the official records, began repeating, word for word, everything Stavros had just announced.

While they listened, Maxon reached to the middle of the table, poured a glass of water from a heavy glass pitcher into a thick glass tumbler and wordlessly sat the glass down in front of America. America wiped her sweaty palms on her dress, then took a sip of cool water followed by a deep breath. The water really helped with her nerves. She met Maxon's eyes and gave him a tiny, grateful smile. He nodded back to her, almost imperceptibly.

When Castor was done with the reading, Stavros cleared his throat and continued, "To start us off today, Evander from the research department has updated polling data for us."

A balding, middle-aged, red headed man with rectangular glasses and a nervous expression on his face picked up the papers in front of him with unsteady hands and read from them directly, his voice slightly shaking.

"In the wake of the Queen's Palace Egg Roll, Queen America's popularity has risen amongst Threes, Fours, Fives, Sixes, and Sevens; while dropping marginally with Twos. Approval for the Queen now rests firmly at 64% averaged amongst all castes polled, her highest approval rating is still with the Fives, at 70%, her lowest with the Twos at 55%." Evander stopped and peeked across the table at America nervously. He seemed to be hoping she wasn't too upset with the news he was delivering, that she had so much work to do to gain the support of the Twos. America and Maxon were well aware of their popularity problem with Twos, however. She offered Evander a tiny smile, and his face relaxed, slightly. He nodded, took a breath, and continued.

Maxon's numbers were holding steady with no significant changes, and when asked to consider Maxon and America together (the question sounded something like, 'Do you approve of the job King Maxon and Queen America are doing?'), their numbers were up by one percentage point, to 56%. If you were in a room with four random citizens, two of them would approve of Maxon and America. Almost three of them would approve of America, if they were Fives. That was a very decent place to be starting from.

"Thank you, Evander." Stavros said, nodding to the researcher. "As a reminder, our goal is to have 75% joint approval for their Majesties by December, and to, as much as possible in that time frame, improve support for aspects of the amendment, such as allowing for a princess to succeed the King over a prince, and dissolving the requirement that a princess forge foreign diplomatic alliances with her marriage. Castor, read that back."

Again, Castor began reading Stavros' last words. America noticed that Stavros did that every time he announced important information, and she wondered if he was doing it so that they would all hear the information twice, to help them remember it.

Castor finished repeating Stavros' words, and Stavros continued, "Queen America, would you please state for the record how far along you are?"

America blinked, stunned. She was surprised to be addressed, and she was surprised at the question. She was so used to talking about this baby with Maxon in hushed whispers or veiled allusions. Now, here she was in the middle of a large room full of men, most of whom she barely knew and half of whom she'd never met, being asked very blatantly, for an official Palace record, how far along she was. She faltered. "Excuse me?"

"How many weeks pregnant are you, Queen America? We need to know more precisely how long we have in this first trimester to lay the ground work for improving your polling numbers through your second and third trimesters."

"Oh." America cleared her throat and said, "Four weeks along… more or less exactly."

"Very good, thank you, your Majesty." America couldn't stop herself from feeling like Stavros was thanking her for incubating their heir. She had to forcibly remind herself that the grandfather whom she'd caught sneaking cookies to the little girl with the long braid at the egg roll was in there somewhere. "Fadaye, the King's Adviser on Media Affairs, I believe you have a suggestion for the announcement date that will help us narrow the scope of our meeting?"

"Yes, I do, Stavros. Your Majesties, let me start by congratulating you both. My heart absolutely overflows for the two of you, and I cannot wait to meet Illéa's next Prince or Princess. We have sorely missed having a young one to watch grow and inspire hope in us, as you always did, King Maxon."

"Thank you, Gavril." Maxon said, in his King voice. But America could hear the fault in his voice, the crack in the façade. Maxon was touched by Gavril's words.

"Thank you, Gavril." America echoed, softly.

"I would like to suggest a large, televised reveal, live on the _Capital Report,_ scheduled for the last Sunday in June. It will be the very middle of the slow season, as far as announcements from the Palace go. It will launch us into coverage of the Palace's Grateful Feast and the parade in July, something for the nation to be truly grateful for. I would like to officially tease the announcement starting the week before, and I would like to plant clues with Queen America's press appearances starting in two weeks time. We'll get the rumors circulating, get the public in a frenzy, we won't have much else to discuss with them because summer is the slow season, with no legislative sessions to report on and many prominent advisers choosing to take their vacations during these months. The news of that baby will be on the front page of every magazine in the world, if we play our cards right. And I'm a very good card player, if I do say so myself." Gavril winked as he finished his proposal.

Stavros looked over at Renken, who sat right next to Gavril, "Renken, the King's Adviser on Public Opinion. Do you agree with Fadaye's approach to the reveal?"

"I do, sir." Renken nodded. "Well done, as usual, Gavril." Gavril nodded. America supposed that Renken and Gavril had to work together a lot, since Renken was in charge of public opinion, and Gavril was in charge of the media that the Palace used to communicate to the public.

"All in favor?" Stavros called.

Every adviser at the table, except Aspen, said 'Aye'. Aspen didn't vote, probably because he didn't think his opinion very useful on the subject of royal baby announcements.

"Any opposed?" Stavros called. No one spoke. "Any proposed alterations?" No one spoke. "Very well, Your Majesties, we submit for your consideration Adviser Fadaye's plan to announce the royal baby, live on the _Capital Report_, on the last Sunday in June, with a week's media promotion, and subtle teasing by her Majesty Queen America starting in two week's time, May 19th." He read this summary from the notes he'd taken as Gavril had been speaking. "Have you any questions, your Majesties?"

"What sort of clues do you have in mind, Gavril?" Maxon asked, with a little frown. He didn't use his King voice this time, instead he used his overly-protective husband voice. From the corner of her eye, America saw Aspen lean forward, interested in the answer, too. As Queen, it wouldn't have been decorous to roll her eyes at the King, nor the King's security adviser, but she really, really wanted to.

"Subtle hints, your Majesty. Refusing wine at a photographed state event, leaving a dance early and claiming fatigue, canceling a royal appearance at the last minute and blaming it on a sudden, mild illness. But not canceling an afternoon appearance on the same day, thus pointing the finger toward morning sickness. If her Majesty purposefully starts wearing looser fitting dresses, even if she isn't showing, it will help stir the pot. I have a myriad of ideas, your Majesty."

America nodded, thoughtfully. "Gavril, I would like for you to coordinate with Silvia on this matter. In a meeting of the Queen's council earlier this week, she brought up several interesting ideas along the same lines. I think, between the two of you, you'll come up with something even more masterful than usual."

Her compliment had been all but lost in a sea of muttering and she knew why. She'd taken to calling Marlee, Georgia, Mary, and Silvia 'the Queen's council', to make them sound more official. The Queen was not technically supposed to need a council. The Queen was supposed to plan the Palace menu and throw parties and, most importantly, make little royal babies. The Queen had never needed a council before, never in the history of Illéa. Maxon's grandmother, Queen Abby, had been hard pressed to leave her bedroom before noon due to frequent hangovers and general disinterest in anyone other than herself. Queen Amberly had focused all of her attention on running the Palace and never lifted her eyes to matters of policy or state. Clarkson never would have let her.

But America was an entirely different kind of Queen, everyone in Illéa knew that. According to her approval numbers, a lot of people liked it. Judging from the reactions she was getting at this table for daring to have her own council, these advisers were a good representative sample of the people of Illéa. About half of them were looking at her, amused and impressed, and the other half were clearly offended. Like her having a council in some way demeaned or degraded their position on the King's council.

Gavril, for his part, was smiling proudly at America, "Absolutely, your Majesty, Silvia is a bright mind and I look forward to plotting and scheming with her."

Stavros spoke, and the mutiny at the table died instantly, "Once you have had that meeting, Fadaye, please send me the Queen's revised publicity schedule so that we can update our calendars accordingly."

"Absolutely." Gavril nodded, making a note.

"Any other questions, your Majesties?"

"No." Maxon spoke for both of them, his voice booming.

"Any alterations?"

"No." America answered.

"In that case, your Majesties, do you approve of Adviser Fadaye's plan to announce the royal baby?"

"We do." Maxon stated, clearly.

"Very good, moving on." Stavros announced.

The meeting continued like this for another hour. Stavros went around to every adviser but Aspen and got their proposals for how to improve Maxon's and America's approval ratings. The advisers would pitch their ideas. Stavros would sometimes ask Aspen what the cost would be to defend, say, a Palace benefit to promote prenatal health for women of all castes, as was one of the proposals by the Social Affairs Adviser, Vesta. It would tie in nicely with Gavril's plan to drop tantalizing hints to the public about America's pregnancy, because her very public interest in prenatal health would almost certainly point to a possible royal baby, especially if she wore a loose-fitting dress, never mind that she'd been quietly campaigning for higher quality prenatal care for two years now, and it was her flagship initiative until she could figure out how to get free, standard public schooling off the ground. At this point in the proceedings, Maxon and America would ask questions. Their questions would be answered. Stavros would ask if they approved. They'd move on to the next item on the docket.

The final adviser to speak was Maxon's head financial adviser, and the leader of the Financial Team, Jepsen. This was the man who, along with several assistant financial advisers, Maxon spent countless tedious, boring hours with in budget meetings. Jepsen had been Clarkson's head financial adviser, as well, and always struck America as more loyal to Clarkson than to Maxon. Jepsen gave them trouble at every turn, funding the food assistance programs or attempting to broaden the public school system. It was hard to tell if this was because he was opposed to these measures on a social level or if he was just a slave to the numbers and insisted that they balance the budget perfectly to avoid going into debt like the old country had. No one wanted a repeat of what happened to the United States of America.

"Your Majesties, to make allowances for the expense of additional public appearances, as well as managing additional production costs associated with the number of _Capital Report_ specials to be filmed in the coming months, and the increased scope of certain, more popular royal initiatives to be determined at a later meeting, I have come up with a list of royal initiatives to be tabled or cut entirely, to improve your polling numbers, and to free up more money for the projects that will support our common goal of passing this amendment."

"Thank you, Jepsen." Stavros said. "The first item on your list?"

"I recommend to his Majesty, King Maxon, that all efforts involving his environmental initiative to clean up the air quality in the southern provinces be tabled for two weeks, minimum. In addition to giving the Palace more time to put together funding, this initiative will do more good for your polling numbers when combined with Queen America's first hints at a royal pregnancy. It will look like you're working to make Illéa a better place for your children, your Majesty, and that will make you very popular."

Maxon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I _am_ working to make Illéa a better place for my children."

"Of course, your Majesty." Jepsen said, as though Maxon's intentions could not have mattered less to him.

"Your Majesty, have you any questions for Jepsen?" Stavros asked.

"Every day that we are idle, men, women, and children in the south are being poisoned." Maxon said, shaking his head. "The women are stricken barren, our population is dwindling in the southern regions, and people are sick, suffering, and desperate. Two weeks sounds like nothing to you and to me, it is a measure of time here in Angeles. In the south, it is a measure of lives lost. You are asking me to sit by and allow my citizens to be poisoned into slow, painful deaths because I'll look better if I wait until people begin to guess that my wife is pregnant? While so many women in the south struggle to have children of their own? Have you been to the south, Jepsen? Have you tried to breathe that air or drink that water? We don't have two weeks to spare, I have declared the south a national disaster area, rightfully so, they desperately require the disaster relief money we are sending their way. Two weeks is too much to ask." Maxon replied. His words came slowly, and thoughtfully, but there was a lot of emotion just below the surface. America could hear it all.

Jepsen replied, cold as ice, "I understand that the Southern Cleanup Initiative is near and dear to your heart, your Majesty, having watched your mother suffer as she did. Her poor health and the loss of your unborn brothers and sisters must weigh heavily on you—"

"That's enough." Maxon said, sharply, Clarkson's temper resting right under the surface of Maxon's kingly demeanor. Maxon wanted his mother left out of this budget discussion, rightfully so. Under the table, America slid her hand onto his knee. She gave him a gentle squeeze, and he seemed to calm down immediately at her touch. "The Southern Cleanup Initiative is important to me because of the Illéan citizens affected by the horrific environmental errors made by our past leaders. They have been wronged, and I intend to do everything in my power to right that wrong."

"Your Majesty, more attention will be given to the cause if you wait for the suggested two week time frame." Jepsen said, confidently. "And more attention will translate into more donations for the cause. Wait and launch this new flagship campaign, the companion to your food relief program, at the opportune moment, sir. It will be ten times more effective, it will be a larger boon to your approval ratings, and it will put us in a good position to move forward with the campaign to enact this amendment."

Maxon sighed unhappily, then he looked over at America. She could see on his face how displeased he was with this suggestion. This felt like playing politics and popularity games with people's lives. Actually, that's exactly what it was, but there was another life at stake here, too. The brand new life currently residing within America.

The look in Maxon's eyes was a very clear question, to America. 'What do I do?', it asked. America shook her head a little, uncertainly. Then she met those warm, brown eyes with a look that she hoped reminded him that she would support him, either way. Under the table, his hand gently covered hers, still resting on his knee. He lifted his chin, sat up straight and tall, and turned to Stavros.

Stavros took this as his cue. "Any other questions, your Majesty?"

"No." Maxon said, darkly.

"Any alterations?"

Maxon blinked his long lashes, clearly trying to imagine what alterations he could possibly make to Jepsen's advice that would make it more palatable, less painful. He couldn't think of anything. "No." Maxon replied.

"Do you approve of Adviser Jepsen's plan to postpone the launch of the Southern Cleanup Initiative?" Stavros asked.

Maxon frowned deeply, "I do."

"Very well." Stavros said. "Jepsen, the next item on your list?"

America shuddered. She'd forgotten that there would be more.

Jepsen flipped a page to another prepared statement and began to read, "I recommend to her Majesty, Queen America, that all efforts involving her initiative to broaden access to prenatal healthcare for women of every caste be tabled for one year."

There was an uproar of mumbling at the table again. A year. Maxon's project was postponed for a couple of weeks, America's was on the back burner for a year?!

"I'm sorry, Jepsen." America spoke, looking over at the man sitting straight across from her. She hoped that she'd just misunderstood. "Did you say a _year_?"

"That is correct, your Majesty." Jepsen nodded.

America knew she was supposed to let Jepsen finish his prepared statement and then wait for Stavros to ask her if she had any questions before she spoke, but she was absolutely stunned. She had to ask, "The King's adviser, Vesta, just finished a proposal that we all approved to host a benefit for the prenatal healthcare initiative. You voted to approve that benefit, does it not fall under the scope of 'all efforts' involving my initiative?"

"It does not, your Majesty." Jepsen replied, cooly. He was unhappy at having been interrupted. He'd worked hard on his presentation, and now he felt insulted.

America's cheeks flushed when she heard his response, because now she was going to look stupid. She didn't understand. "Why not?" she demanded, hoping to keep authority in her tone, even as she had no idea what was happening.

"A benefit is a social event, your Majesty. The efforts under my purview pertain to the money that the Palace sends to the provinces every month to help cover the costs of medical care, health supplements, and the sharing of expensive equipment between neighboring provinces. Host all of the social events that you please, your Majesty, but we need the money that we regularly send to the provinces in order to pay for the new expenditures associated with making you and the King more popular, and promoting this amendment."

America shook her head, folding her hands in her lap. Maxon was reluctant to release her hand, but in the end, he didn't have a choice. "The prenatal healthcare initiative is one of my most popular philanthropic endeavors. The lower castes support it, and it doesn't bother the Twos. It's a win-win."

"And publicly, you will be the face of that initiative by hosting the benefit proposed by Vesta and approved by this council, the King, and yourself."

"But privately I'll be siphoning funds from pregnant mothers who need vitamins so that I can pay for more press appearances, is that it?" America demanded.

Jepsen did not like her bluntness. He looked disgruntled, unhappy at having to explain this. To him, it was obvious. "It is not siphoning, your Majesty, those funds are part of your annual allowance. You must now redirect that money to support this amendment, for the time being. This time next year, your coffers will be full again and you can continue your monthly donations to this cause."

"Everything about this is wrong, Jepsen." America said, in no uncertain terms. "For starters, a year is far too long. The King's flagship initiative has been tabled for two weeks, and you're asking me to table mine for an entire year?"

"This amendment is your flagship initiative now, your Majesty." Jepsen corrected.

"This amendment is _our_ initiative now." America insisted. "It's as much King Maxon's as it is mine, and it is yours as well, sir. I will not shoulder an unequal portion of the burden."

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but this amendment will be perceived as yours." Jepsen said, annoyance in his voice. He'd probably never had to defend his proposals like this when Clarkson was King.

"Then we must fight that perception, mustn't we?" America said, annoyance in her voice, too.

There was clear disapproval in his tone when he responded, he obviously resented having to answer to her. "We'll do what we can, your Majesty, but I must point out that it will be fairly apparent to our citizens whose idea this amendment was. You have revolutionized the role of queen in the monarchy already, and you've only held the position for three short years. It won't be hard to figure out who is trying to revolutionize the role of princess."

"_Trying_, Jepsen?" America asked, coldly.

"Forgive me, your Majesty. Succeeding."

America stared back at him, unblinking, as she struggled to gather her thoughts through a wave of hot frustration and anger. She saw what he was doing and it was totally unfair. "This was my idea, so it is going to cost me more, is that it, Jepsen?"

"The numbers—"

"I understand." America said, cutting him off shortly. "It's a woman's amendment, and the women should pay for it. With their health, in this case, and the health of their babies."

"That's not at all—"

"Stop talking." America snapped. Someone had to stand up for these women, and unfortunately, she was sitting in a room full of men. "I understand your proposition perfectly. Maxon and I are going to throw more parties and walk more rope lines, sign more autographs and pose for more pictures, and all of the women who are giving birth in the next year are just out of luck." She shook her head, looking hopelessly at the papers in front of her, then back up at Jepsen. "_I__'__m_ giving birth in the next year."

"As such, I'm sure this is a very emotional decision for you." He said, impatiently.

"Emotional? Yes, women are always so emotional when making decisions about how they spend their money." America glared, witheringly sarcastic. Although, she had to admit, she was feeling emotional at that moment. Anger was most of the emotion, but it counted.

"Your Majesty, please don't be difficult." Jepsen said, condescension creeping into his tone.

"Don't be difficult? Do as I am told, you mean?" America spat. He was really making it worse and worse.

Jepsen shook his head and crossed his arms defensively, leaning back in his chair. "You're trying to make me out to be something I'm not." he finally snapped. "Most of the money coming from your philanthropic allowance is going to the prenatal care initiative. We need to spend that money somewhere else, it's that simple."

"It's a _philanthropic_ allowance, Jepsen, it's supposed to be used for philanthropy. Not publicity."

"The budget is being shifted around to support this amendment, your Majesty." Jepsen said, short-tempered now. "And this is what we ask of you for your contribution."

"How heavy is my contribution, Jepsen?" America asked. "This money that we're reallocating to support the amendment, how much of it is coming from my projects? I'll bet it's not exactly a 50/50 split between Maxon and me. I'll bet I'm being asked to pay a far higher price—"

"Because you have more to spare—"

"This is not spare!" America slammed her glass of water down on the table so hard that a little bit of it splashed over the side. "Infant mortality is down, Jepsen, babies are surviving and thriving. Someday they'll become healthy, productive members of our society. They are not spare! If we take this money away from them, we're risking their lives. I know you want me to sacrifice, Jepsen, and I will, but not this. I understand sacrifice, I grew up sacrificing my dinner so that my younger siblings could eat—"

"Yes," Jepsen interrupted the Queen of Illéa, "We're all well aware of your _difficult_ upbringing." he said in a tone that positively oozed disrespect and was borderline mocking.

America blinked and leaned back in her chair, her posture straightening. Beside her, Maxon leaned in, anger radiating off of him, but he did not say a word. The other men at the table began mumbling their disapproval, some of them irately. Even the ones who disagreed with America had far too much respect for the office of Queen ever to _interrupt_ her.

When she spoke, it was softly. Dangerously. "Jepsen, I understand that I am making this hard for you. That I am a new queen, and you are a seasoned veteran of this conference room. You have devoted your life to the monarchy and I am shaking it all up. I am changing this institution, and it is making you terribly uncomfortable. That being said, the institution _has_ changed. You're right, I have revolutionized the role of queen in this monarchy. _This_ is the role of queen now, it's not going back to the way it was before, and you can either get on board or you can _get_ _out_. Do you understand?" America leaned forward, eyes narrowing, locked in on Jepsen's face.

He seemed to be waiting for her to carry on. To ask him a question or ask Maxon his opinion, or maybe just lean back and look away. America did not blink. She stared him down, and saw the moment he realized that she wasn't going to back off. His face, if possible, flushed redder and a vein in his neck poked out due to the tension in his body. His lips pursed and he glared daggers at her, but he finally submitted. "Yes, your Majesty." he managed.

America nodded, leant back, turned to Stavros and said, "I'll find another way to fund prenatal care. I approve of his proposition because I have no choice, but I am not happy about this and I want that on the record. Let's move on."

There was dead silence in the room for a moment. America looked over at Maxon, but he was still glaring at Jepsen. America looked to Aspen, but he was avoiding her eyes. He was beyond furious with her, and everything in his posture showed it. In his mind, she'd just thrown Lucy, and all of the women like Lucy, under the bus. She'd used Lucy as a pawn in a political chess match, and he was outraged. Who was she kidding? She was outraged, too.

Maxon finally tore his eyes from Jepsen and turned to Stavros, "That's all for today, Stavros."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"We have a clear idea of what we're doing, moving forward, that was the purpose of this meeting. We're done." Maxon stood, and all of the advisers jumped to their feet. America was still trying to catch Aspen's eye when Maxon placed a hand on her shoulder. He pulled her chair out for her, she accepted the arm he was offering her, and they briskly exited the room into the hallway outside. It was empty, other than two guards stationed at either end of the hall.

America and Maxon simply looked at each other, frowning. They were both angry, but not necessarily with each other. No, America shouldn't have lost her temper with an adviser, and yes, Maxon should have insisted on sharing an equal portion of the financial burden for the amendment designed to protect the baby that was 50% his DNA, but that was a minor disagreement. They could resolve that relatively simply. They needed to talk, but it wouldn't be productive to do it right then, and they both knew it. Finally, America spoke, "I need some time."

"Me, too." Maxon agreed, his brow knitted. They were both brimming with anger and frustration, and they'd learned better than to take it out on each other.

"We'll talk after dinner." America said, and then she turned on her heel and left. She could hear Maxon walking off the other way behind her.

America charged into the Women's Room, anxious and angry and hurt and sad, and more than convinced that Amberly could have gotten a better deal for the women of Illéa if she'd been in that room. Tears streamed down America's cheeks and she didn't bother to wipe them off, she was too busy pacing the floor. In a moment of surging rage, America backhanded a crystal vase sitting on an end table and it flew across the room before shattering on the floor.

"Your Majesty!" Silvia's voice exclaimed. She'd walked into the room just in time to see the vase flying by. "That's a handcrafted crystalline amphorae procured by Queen Abby more than fifty years ago."

"No." America said, "It _was_ a handcrafted crystalline amphorae procured by Queen Abby more than fifty years ago. Now it's a pile of broken glass." she sniffled and then sank onto a couch, arms crossed tightly, fighting off sobs.

"Your Majesty… what…" Silvia stopped herself. It was in the protocol, subservients couldn't ask questions of queens. It was rude and prying. If America wanted her to know, America would just have to tell her.

"I need Mary." America managed, shaking. "Go get Mary, please."

Relief flooded Silvia's face. She finally a clear order from the Queen. "Yes, of course, your Majesty." Silvia curtseyed quickly and then darted from the room.

For a woman who refused to run in the Palace, Silvia returned with shocking speed, leading a confused and concerned Mary into the Women's Room.

"Your Majesty!" Mary breathed, surprised to find America with quiet tears pouring down her face, still fighting off the sobs.

"We need…" America stopped, trying to clear her head and make a good plan. There were women like Lucy counting on her to figure this out. Silvia handed America a tissue and America gratefully accepted. After blowing her nose and blotting her eyes, America managed, "We need to go through my closets and pick out some gowns, one for every province."

"I'm sorry?"

"Old dresses that I won't wear anymore. I'm about to be too pregnant for most of my clothes, anyway, and by the time I have the baby, the fashion will have changed and you'll want to make me new things, right?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Mary nodded, perched on the couch next to America, soothingly stroking her back.

"So, one dress for every province. They'll auction the dress off. That will get them through June."

"What…" Mary stopped herself, too.

America sighed. How could she admit this to them? Her head lowered in shame and sadness, America said, "I had to trade… I had to trade the funding for the prenatal clinics, for the amendment."

Silvia sank down onto the couch opposite America, comprehension dawning on her face. "Oh, your Majesty…" Silvia had worked with America every step of the way to get those clinics funded. This was as much her loss as it was America's.

"We have to… we can't… we have to do something." America sobbed.

Mary nodded, rubbing her back more firmly now. "We'll think of something. I can't make 35 dresses a month, and you can't really wear 35 dresses a month, but we'll figure something out. Miss Marlee and Miss Georgia will help. That's what we're here for, right?"

America nodded, hoping Mary was right. Hoping that between Marlee, Georgia, Silvia, and Mary, they could _somehow_ keep those clinics fully funded.

She imagined how she'd feel if she was a six, married to Aspen, pregnant and dependent on vitamins and healthcare provided by the free clinics to keep her baby healthy. And if that was suddenly taken from her, with no warning and no explanation. She imagined how she'd feel if she and Maxon were Fives, living off of his photography and her music, and there was no other guaranteed way for her to stay healthy for their baby. If it was the free clinics or nothing, and if her vitamin levels dropped too low, and then she lost the baby—

That's when she found herself leaning heavily on Mary, crying hard into her shoulder, while Mary whispered soft, gentle reassurances and maintained a steady rhythm, rubbing soothing circles on America's back.


	17. Chapter 17

"You tugged your ear." A warm, tired voice behind America announced. She'd been expecting him for a while now.

"Oh, yeah." America said, rearranging herself in her reclined chair out on the balcony to make room. "I forgot about that."

"It was before the meeting started. What did you want to talk about?" Maxon squeezed in beside her and wrapped his arm around her. They were both much calmer now that they'd had a good dinner and a few hours to think things through and settle down.

"How nervous I was." America laughed, ironically. "I was curious about your first meeting in that room. If it was anything like what happened just now."

"Not exactly." Maxon laughed, affectionately. "I was twelve years old the first time I attended a meeting in conference room A. It was supposed to be a big show of confidence that my father was letting me attend. I think it was just a trap, though. It was even more crowded than today, because it was a meeting about the New Asian War. My father hadn't given me the briefing material beforehand, then he humiliated me the first time I tried to ask a question, and he made me feel like an inadequate fool. He wanted to make sure the advisers knew that I'd never be the king he was."

America frowned and traced his cheekbone with her fingertips. "I'm sorry." America sighed, imagining little Maxon feeling so overwhelmed and alone. "For what it's worth, you _won__'__t _ever be the king he was. And that's a very, very good thing."

Maxon smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then the top of her hair. "My first meeting in conference room A wasn't nearly as exciting as yours was today."

"Was it that bad?"

"It was pretty scandalous." Maxon nodded. "But Jepsen was out of line."

"I feel terrible."

"I don't want that." Maxon shook his head.

"I wanted to make you proud. To make Amberly proud. I messed it all up, didn't I?"

"I thought you were just a little bit wonderful." Maxon smiled at her. "I mean, no, you shouldn't make a habit of dominating my advisers like that, they tend to resent that kind of thing, but Jepsen needed to hear what you said, because you were right. Speaking truth to authority takes a lot of courage, and I'm proud of you. I would argue, as usual, that your methods could have been subtler, but there's no doubt that he got the message, and I don't think he'll be forgetting it any time soon."

America sighed and threw her head back, exasperatedly. "Why did he have to go after the prenatal care initiative? It's the thing I'm most proud of, it's the thing that's done the most real good. I've got about seventy half-formed ideas about how to make life better for Illéans, but that's the only one I've managed to make work so far. Babies, Maxon. We're stealing money from babies."

Maxon chuckled a little at the dramatic tone in her voice, "I promise to help you keep those clinics funded in any way that I can. It can't come from the budget, but there are other things we can do. We have considerable sway, you know, we _are _the King and Queen. Think of this as a 'Carter and Marlee' situation."

America pouted a little, her brow furrowing as she tried to draw the connection. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Maxon said, shifting to get a little bit more comfortable, "that this was a hard day. We had to do difficult things, that's part of the job. That's the King and Queen in us. But—"

America's brain lit up at the memory of the first time Maxon revealed that he'd hidden Marlee and Carter away after their caning, "There are opportunities here, and we can do great things?"

"Yes, I think so." Maxon nodded, pleased that she remembered.

"I'm donating dresses to auction off. That's where I'm starting." America announced. She looked at him closely, curious about what he'd think of that.

"Perfect." Maxon said, enthusiastically. "That's a great place to start. Listen, I know that we're taking more money from your allowance than mine, and I'm willing to work hard to make that up to you. You tell me where I need to be, when I need to be there, and what I need to do, and I'll make it happen. And if we do this well, we'll end up with an amendment _and _fully funded prenatal clinics. Happy, healthy babies all around, America. Even ours." He rested his hand on her flat stomach gently, the smallest smile on his face at the thought of their own happy, healthy baby growing larger every day, just a few inches below his fingertips.

For the second time that day, America was overwhelmed with the urge to cry. This time, it was tears of gratitude. "Maxon…" but she didn't know what to say. What words existed to express to him how grateful she was for his devotion and support and belief in her causes? For taking what could have been a major loss and helping her piece it back together into an opportunity full of hope? The lucky thing was, they didn't need words. They had that little secret language of theirs, and Maxon already knew exactly what she meant.

America looked up at the stars, letting the stillness of the night envelope her. "We've got to find some way to get Aspen to forgive us. Well, me."

"To forgive you?"

"He doesn't understand the decision I made in the meeting today. Even though they're Twos now, Lucy uses my clinics to get her vitamins."

"Really? I didn't know that." Maxon frowned.

"Yeah. Aspen spends all of his money taking care of his family, and her father. It doesn't leave much leftover. And then, with the expenses that come with having a new baby, the crib and diapers and strollers and everything… Lucy's been using my clinics to save money."

Maxon sighed, "Alright. We'll think of something. We'll win him back over."

America nodded, uncertainly. She hated fighting with Aspen almost as much as she hated fighting with Maxon. She closed her eyes and leant her head against her husband's shoulder, soaking in the nearness of him. "Also, he thinks I should tell my family. About the baby."

"He's right about that." Maxon said, his lips tickling her head.

America could hear the petulance in her own tone as she responded, "I know, just… He made me feel all guilty about it. He didn't have to do that."

"Do you want me to send him to New Asia?" Maxon offered, idly.

America snorted, "On what, a vacation? There's no war over there anymore."

"I could start one."

America laughed, "That's not necessary. Thank you, though."

"What did he say?" Maxon asked, seriously.

"He said Lucy would give anything to have a mother and sisters to support her right now, and I was… basically taking mine for granted, by not letting them smother me to death about this baby." America placed her hand on Maxon's, still resting on her stomach. She wondered if the baby could feel them. "He made me seem pretty selfish, actually."

"You're not."

"I guess… It just frustrated me because… I guess, I know that Lucy misses her mother and would love to have sisters to help her through her pregnancy. I get that. But Aspen didn't even… there's wasn't… he didn't even acknowledge… I mean, at least Lucy has Kamber and Celia and Lena, you know, to… to… I mean, at least…"

"Ames?" He was just a little worried, now. _His_ America, at a loss for words?

"Lucy has her father." America finally blurted out. "She's got him, she sees him every day, and no, he's not the same as a mother, but he's still her dad and she still gets to share this with him and he was there when she was born and he'll be there when her baby is born, and he danced with her at her wedding and gave her away to Aspen, he'll get to be there to help raise that baby and teach it to talk and tell it all kinds of interesting stories from his life and—"

"Woah, woah, Ames…" Maxon said, his voice soothing. He rubbed his hands up and down her upper-arms, hoping to calm her. It was only at his interruption that America realized that she was getting choked up yet again. "This is about your dad?"

America took a breath and twisted the hem of Maxon's shirt in her fingers, anxiously. "I really miss him, Maxon… I can't tell _them_ and not him."

Maxon swallowed heavily and pulled her, if possible, closer. "Ames, I had no idea."

"…Neither did I, I don't think." America said, feeling the trail of a tear falling down her cheek.

"This is why you didn't want to tell your family? Because your dad won't be there?"

"I _do _want to tell them, Maxon, I just… " America sniffled. "I mean, Kenna knows, but that's because she figured it out. It's not the same as having a big family announcement with everyone gathered around and smiling and excited and he's not there…He's just… gone."

Maxon sighed, thoughtfully, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright. Okay. I'm going to fix this, I just haven't figured out how, yet."

"Maxon, you're an amazing man, and a great king, and you might be able to come up with some way to keep my clinics funded and convince Aspen to forgive me for defunding them in the first place, but not even _you _can bring my daddy back from the dead." America smiled up at him sadly, taking his hand in hers and using it to wipe the tears from her face. He left his hand on her cheek, cupping it closely.

"Have I ever failed you?" he asked, softly.

"…No. Never."

"I don't intend to start now."

"But, Maxon, he's dead—"

"Trust me." Maxon insisted. Those were magic words in their marriage.

"I do." America nodded. "I will."

Maxon nodded, and then leant back to look up at the stars, thoughtfully. "It's good that Lucy has Aspen's family. We should be happy for her."

"I am. God, Maxon, I'm _so_ happy for her. For both of them."

"But you're right, I think maybe, for just a moment, Aspen lost sight of the fact that you were closest to your father and all of your in-laws are dead. Lucy was closest to her father, and she still has him, as well as her in-laws. Not to belittle her loss, but it was wrong of him to belittle yours."

"That wasn't his intention." America said with a shrug of one shoulder. "He was just being Aspen. Saying exactly what was on his mind. Where would we be without Aspen Leger blurting out the first thought that popped into his head?"

Maxon chuckled at a thought and then spoke it aloud, "I mean, really. Do you wish my father was here to help support you, America? Like Aspen's mother is helping Lucy?"

"Oh, yeah, your dad would support me alright." America laughed. "Right off of this balcony, he'd support me." They could laugh about it now, because he was dead. They'd never have laughed about it before. "I do…" America stopped herself.

"You do, what?" Maxon asked, peeking down at her.

"Nothing, never mind." She remembered talking to Kenna about how much she missed Amberly, and Kenna advising her to talk to Maxon about it. But it wasn't an easy conversation to have. Maxon still ached for his mother's arms almost daily.

"Ames." Maxon breathed.

"I was only going to say…" America sighed, "I was only going to say that I do miss your mother, very much. But however much I miss her, I know you miss her ten thousand times more. As much as I could use her guidance now, Queen to Queen, I know you miss her advice even more, mother to son."

Maxon didn't speak for a long, long time. He just stared at the stars and began stroking her lower abdomen in a motion that was soothing for both of them. Maybe even all three of them.

Finally, Maxon spoke, "Aunt Adele offered me letters. She and Mother corresponded constantly, from the day mother left Honduragua for Father's Selection. Aunt Adele offered them to me in the aftermath of _the_ rebel attack." There were lots of rebel attacks, but only one '_the_ rebel attack'. "I told her I didn't want them, at the time. I couldn't bear to read them, and I didn't think they'd do me any good. Just make me sad. Just make me miss her even more. What if they smelled like her? What would that do to me?" Maxon paused, giving himself a moment for the audible tightness in his throat to subside, possibly fighting off tears of his own. "Aunt Adele promised to keep them safe for me. You should have them, America."

"Maxon," America breathed, her eyes shut tight. "That's too much."

"No, it isn't. Aunt Adele says that they aren't always _entirely_ honest. You know Mother was always about keeping a brave face, no matter what."

"Yes." America agreed. It was all she could manage to say.

"So I don't know how much use they'll be to you. Mother never would have written about the hardest parts of the job. But if you want them, you should have them." Maxon said. "And if there are any good ones… Maybe I could stand to read just one or two."

America tilted her head over and up to get a good look at her husband. When he finally lowered his eyes to meet hers, the expression on her face was nothing short of adoring.

America grinned up at him, and turned her attention back to the stars. There were more than she could ever hope to count.

"Oh, um, Maxon?" she was hoping to make her husband laugh now, after the difficult day they'd shared.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Your—"

"Um, dear-est, truest, wifely-est wife, of course. What did you think I was going to say?"

America choked down her laughter. "That."

"What were you going to say, my Queen?"

"Well, um, just so you know, it is totally possible that you're going to hear something about your grandmother's vase, which I kind of completely shattered today, after the meeting."

"My grandmother's—"

"Queen Abby's favorite crystalline something-or-other, I don't know, it's gone now."

Maxon laughed, his shoulders shaking, and with them, America's whole body. "Okay." he said. "And you and Silvia might come across a bill to replace a broken window in the library."

"Might we?"

"Yeah, it's not a big deal."

"No?"

"My hand slipped, rather hard, while I was referencing the national budget for this fiscal year. It went flying out the window."

America grinned at the image, but rolled over so that she could look Maxon in the eye. "After the meeting today? You were referencing the budget?"

"Trying to find another way to pay for your clinics—"

He didn't get any farther than that. America kissed him so hard and so fast, he almost bit her trying to finish his sentence. But as soon as he realized what was happening, he abandoned all words. America didn't, though. "You are," kiss, "The _best_ husband," kiss, "in the entire world!" kiss. While she'd been sobbing in Mary's arms, hopelessly, Maxon had already been working on fixing this for her. He was so wonderful to her, she almost couldn't stand it.

"Really?" Maxon asked when she leaned back to look at him. He had a goofy smile on his swollen lips. "The _best_?"

"Definitely."

"Do I get a prize?" he asked cheekily, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Oh, I think we can arrange something." America assured him, in a low, tantalizing voice. Then she leaned back to study his face, amazed. "How did you take such a long, hard day and turn it into something so perfect?" She gestured to the balcony around them to make her point. It was a beautiful, warm night.

"I have my muses to inspire me." Maxon replied, simply. "You. And the baby muse."

"Do you still have that picture from the ultrasound?"

"I take it with me everywhere I go." Maxon smiled. "It's my lucky charm." he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

"Is it just me, or is it already cute?" America asked, sitting up and studying the grey blob closely.

"It's by far the cutest colorless, amorphous blob I've ever seen." Maxon nodded, emphatically.

"Maxon… I can't feel it, I can't see it, I have no symptoms yet, it has had no effect on my body at all… but I love it _so_ much."

She could hear Maxon's smile in his voice, "I know exactly what you mean."

She stared over at their little blob for another moment and then handed it back to him, "Okay. Alright." She stretched, "I need to get changed out of this dress. Are you staying outside?"

"Just a few more minutes." he said, lazily stroking her arm with his finger.

"Alright." America stood and leant down to kiss him again. "I'll meet you in your room?" He nodded.

As she spied on her husband, lying out on their balcony, America fully realized for the first time that she would never stop being in awe of that man. He was simply too amazing. And that somehow, some way, after the day they'd had, the impossible had happened and she loved him even more.


	18. Chapter 18

"I'm really glad you were able to come today, Maxon." America said, squeezing his hand. They were curled up in the back seat of an unmarked black car, driving quickly through the streets of Angeles.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Maxon grinned, leaning over and kissing her. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

"I can't really get away with not telling them about the baby for much longer, can I?" Maxon had called Adele earlier that week and broken the baby and amendment news to her. She promised to be of use in any way that she possibly could be. That left America's family as just about the last ones in the world to be brought in on the secret.

"Well…" Maxon considered it. "Not if you value your life. I think it's getting to the point where your mother would have your head."

"Agreed." America said, with a sigh.

"I'm really glad we're going to see them." Maxon said, bracingly. "I haven't left the Palace all year. Can you believe that?"

"Yes."

"I promised Gerad a shootout match of soccer when I saw him at the Egg Roll, and it's perfect weather today. I can't wait." Maxon said, fidgeting a little in his excitement. Maxon was a different person on the rare occasions he got to visit the Singer household. 'King Maxon' was nowhere in sight, and neither was 'Prince Maxon'. This 'Maxon' was the closest thing to normal citizen 'Max' that America ever saw in real life.

"We're 'Max' and 'Mer' today, aren't we?" America smiled, vocalizing just part of her thoughts. "You're going to kick the ball around with Gerad and I'm going to catch up with my sisters, and then we're going to announce—"

"Our little shipwreck, castaway baby?" Maxon suggested, hand flying to its new favorite perch, her stomach.

"I hope our baby has your laugh." America giggled.

"What? Really?" Maxon asked, surprised.

"Can you imagine? Your embarrassing, awful, wheezing laugh on a little six-month-old baby? Every time we play peek-a-boo, it just starts baby-snorting?" America laughed at the thought.

Maxon grinned and leant in close to her. "I hope it has your everything else. Your ears." he kissed her earlobe. "Your neck." he kissed her neck. "Your nose." he kissed her nose. "Your lips…" he got a little carried away on the lips, and the next thing either of them were fully aware of, the car was slowing down and turning onto the private road leading to the Singer house. "Damn it." Maxon sighed, straightening himself up and allowing America to use her thumb to get her lipstick off of his lips. "I should have given your family a house that was farther away."

America nodded as he turned to her and helped arrange her hair and blouse so that she looked less tousled. "I know. Would another fifteen minutes have killed you?"

"Hindsight, my love." Maxon frowned. They were mostly joking.

Gerad was the first one out the front door when their car, and an identical unmarked black car for their security detail, pulled to a stop in the long driveway. Sure enough, he had a soccer ball under his arm.

"Maxon!" Gerad called out, the moment the chauffeur opened the car door for Maxon and America.

America grinned, the first one out of the car. "Hey, Ger."

"Oh, hi Ames." Gerad said, politely. That's when Maxon popped his head out of the car and Gerad's whole face lit up, "Maxon! Are you ready to play?" America smiled at her brother, affectionately. To Gerad, Maxon was not the King or a brother-in-law. Maxon was just a brother. Maxon was family.

Gerad couldn't _really_remember a time before Maxon and America were married. He was way too young to remember a time before Kota's desertion, and he was close with James, but James had to work a lot and seemed more like a substitute father-figure, having taken on so many family responsibilities after Shalom Singer's death. So Maxon had become the big brother Gerad idolized, and America absolutely loved that. She knew how much it meant to Maxon to have a kid in this world who honestly, purely, from the depths of his heart considered Maxon to be a big brother. And the two could not have been more adorable together if they'd tried.

"Wow, Gerad," Maxon shook his head as if dismayed. "You've grown about ten inches since the Egg Roll."

Gerad grinned and hugged the soccer ball to his chest. "Not really. But I've grown two inches since Christmas!" he said, eager to please.

"I don't know, I agreed to play this shoot-out with a much shorter kid. Short kids are easier to beat. I feel cheated."

"Oh, go on." America laughed. "We'll let you shoot-out your next round against Astra."

"I should say 'hello' to everybody first." Maxon said to Gerad. "I'll meet you out back by the goal?"

"Okay." Gerad grinned. To his credit, he did wrap America in a tight hug before taking off at a jog around to the back of the house towards the soccer goal that had been his eighth birthday gift from Maxon and America, and was still his pride and joy.

America gave Maxon a look that told him her opinion on exactly how good of a father he was going to be. Maxon grinned sheepishly, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, and said, "Let's get inside."

America barely got the 'he—' in 'hello' out of her mouth before her arms were full of May Singer. "Ames!" May squeaked. "I'm so glad you're finally here, I've been waiting _all day_!"

America laughed at the dramatic, desperate nature of May's proclamation. "Sorry we kept you waiting. We had to finish up a couple of things before we left."

"I have so much to tell you," May smiled, kissing America's cheek and then pressing her own cheek to America's. "— about my boyfriend."

America's posture straightened, stiff as a board, and America's eyes flew to Kenna, who was standing a few feet away with Astra on her hip. "Boyfriend?" America asked, stiffly. Kenna nodded, gravely.

"I can't wait for you to meet him, he _loves_ you and Maxon."

"Are we allowing this?" America asked, jaw tight, unable to believe her ears.

"Apparently so." Kenna said, helplessly.

America looked over at her mother, who still had an arm around Maxon from hugging him in greeting. "He's a very nice boy." Magda shrugged.

America could have both laughed and screamed at the same time, "If I'd come home with a boyfriend at _her_ age—"

"Oh, please, Ames," May laughed. "You got _married_ at my age. I'm fine."

"You." America poked May's shoulder with one finger. "You are going to be the death of me. Regicide, May. You're killing me." And May laughed, affectionately.

Suddenly, America was receiving a look from Maxon, a lot like the one she'd give him a minute before, telling her _his_ opinion on just how wonderful a mother _she_ was going to be.

They all began moving towards the backyard where America's mom had begun to set up lunch for them. Maxon wrapped an arm around America's waist and leant down to her ear, "I want to hear more about what your mother would have done to you if you'd had a boyfriend at May's age—"

"Slain me."

"Or, say, when you were two years younger than her age."

"What?"

"And, say, his name was Aspen Leger—"

"You know, there's a very good reason Aspen and I didn't tell our mothers about our relationship. We valued our lives."

"So May's in a better place than you were at her age?"

"Yeah, I guess, so—"

"So that's really good news." Maxon kissed her lips. "And you have to let her grow up, one way or another. It might as well be this way, with her telling you all about it."

America frowned. He was right, but she didn't have to like it. "Okay. But if we have a girl, she stops aging when she gets to be Gerad's size. That's the perfect size. I want one Gerad's size or Astra's size. I don't want one May's size. That's too big." Maxon laughed and squeezed the arm he had around her waist.

America sipped on iced tea with lemon and watched Maxon and Gerad try to score goals on each other while May told her all about 'Jax' and his 'rippley' muscles, 'gorgeous' blue eyes, and 'long, smoking hot' chestnut hair.

"May, do you actually know anything about this guy's personality? Hobbies, interests, anything?" America asked, halfway through this description.

"Well, Ames, it's not really so much about the personality with us. We're really more about the physical..."

"Oh, God, May!" America winced, closing her eyes to try to block out the mental image of her baby sister and some guy named 'Jax' getting 'physical'. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"Don't worry, America, I'm not an idiot. We don't go too far. We're just having some fun. But he _is_ really sweet and super handsome, and he's a big fan of you and Maxon."

Halfway through the unsolicited story of how May and Jax met, at a huge party thrown by a very famous model, Astra ran over to America and crawled into her lap. That was the moment Maxon peeked over to see what his wife was doing and America caught his eye. "This size." she mouthed, pointing to Astra and then cuddling her closer, and Maxon laughed as America was forced to listen to how 'romantic' Jax was, writing a song on his beat-up old guitar for May, entitled 'May (you be mine?)'.

"Did Maxon ever write you songs?" May asked, wistfully.

"No. Letters, though. Beautiful, Maxon-y letters." America replied, semi-distracted between Astra in her lap and Maxon attempting to block Gerad from scoring goals.

"That's nice, too… I guess." May shrugged. "Doesn't he ever get hopelessly romantic?" she asked, as if worried that Maxon wasn't creative enough for romance.

America looked over at May, surprised, "Of course he does. He never tries to put my name in songs using incorrect grammar—"

"Oh, let it go, your _Majesty_." May rolled her eyes. She always called America 'your _Majesty_' when America's shiny, new Palace education was showing.

"When Maxon wants to do something romantic for me, he eliminates the caste system, or institutes a food assistance program. Sometimes he buys my family a house, sometimes he takes one of my hair-brained schemes to his advisers for approval. One time he sent you strawberry tarts, if you'll recall. Today, he's kicking the ball around with my little brother, and that's pretty romantic, if you ask me."

May smiled between America and Maxon. "You two are _such_ an old married couple."

America laughed, "Are we?"

"You should make him get you flowers sometimes. Or chocolates."

"He invited me to live in a palace with enormous gardens and all of the pastries I can eat, doesn't that count?"

"That was _years_ ago. You can't let the romance die, America. Romance is important."

"Oh, now you're the expert on romance?" America rolled her eyes.

"What are you talking about? I've always been the expert on romance. I wanted you and Maxon together from the moment you got your invitation to join the Selection. You, on the other hand, lacked the ambition and imagination required to see Maxon for what he really was. Your handsome prince."

America sighed, eyeing her husband carefully. "He _is_ handsome, isn't he?" she relented.

"He's no Jax, but he'll do." May joked.

America chased Astra around the enormous yard surrounding her family's house until Magda called them all to the table they'd set up outside. The roast chicken was ready, and America, for one, was famished. Gerad was trying to score on Maxon when America came up and tagged him out.

"Lunch time." America announced.

Gerad frowned and called over to Maxon, "After lunch?"

Maxon nodded, though he looked pretty tired already. America understood. Gerad was hard to keep up with.

America kicked the ball to Maxon and then walked over to him, falling into a deep curtsey. "Lunch is served, your Majesty." America announced.

Maxon laughed and then pulled her back up to standing. "Not today, my love. Today, I'm just 'Max'."

"Has anyone ever called you just 'Max' before?" America asked, wrapping an arm around her husband's back.

"My cousins, when they were learning to talk." Maxon nodded. "Well, they called me 'Mash', and I think that's close enough."

America laughed, "See, now I have to call you 'Mash' all the time."

"Did Gerad or May have something absurd they called you when they were learning to speak?" Maxon asked.

"Mhmm. I was 'Make-uh' until Gerad was about three. May settled on 'Ames' pretty early."

"Make-uh and Mash." Maxon grinned. "I like us."

"Me, too." America leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

Lunch was a raucous, thoroughly satisfying affair. Everyone got more than their fill, and the food was delicious. Magda had gone all out to impress Maxon, as usual. James and Maxon got into a spirited, enthusiastic discussion about Maxon's elimination of the draft after the ceasefire with New Asia and Gerad looked up at them both, adoringly, the whole time, just soaking them in.

America sat between May and Kenna, and Kenna leant over while the blueberry pie was being passed around and said, softly, "So, is this visit about what I think it's about?"

"I would say so." America nodded.

"'Bout time, America." Kenna nodded. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to… share."

"I did it to bother you, really, it was all about _you_, Kenna. My plan was to drive you to insanity by forcing you to keep my secret for the rest of time." America said, sarcastically. She didn't need a guilt trip about how long she'd waited to tell her family. It was _her _baby, and _her _decision, and she had to do what was right for _her_self, after all. At least, that's what she told herself.

"Hm. That had some bite to it, Sis." Kenna's eyes were wide with surprise. She hadn't really earned the vicious response she'd received.

"Sorry." America said sourly, and then she realized that she meant it. "I'm sorry, Kenna." America sighed. "It's been a long road from… the Egg Roll to now. It's really stressful."

"I can only imagine." Kenna brushed a hand through America's hair, affectionately, to show that there were no hard feelings.

That's when Maxon peeked his head down the table to May and called out, "May?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you find any… um, anything useful, from our conversation last night?"

America's eyebrows flew up, "What conversation?"

May ignored her, "Oh! Yes! I think I found the perfect thing, come on." May leapt up from her seat and Maxon stood, too.

"Where are you going?" America asked, as Maxon swung by and pecked her on the forehead on his way to follow May.

"We'll be right back." Maxon promised, distractedly.

"We're not saving you any pie!" America called as they left.

"America!" Magda scolded. "Yes, we are."

America shook her head at her mother's inability to recognize that she'd been making an empty threat. "Mom, is my husband colluding with my sister behind my back?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." Magda replied primly, but there was something in her expression that told America that she knew _exactly_ what Maxon and May were up to.

America was on her third glass of iced tea with lemon, and splitting a second slice of pie with Gerad when Maxon and May returned, Maxon's arm around May's shoulders.

"What did you think of it?" Magda asked apprehensively, when they reappeared.

"I think it's _perfect_." Maxon praised.

America met Maxon's eyes, her expression annoyed and quizzical. He gave her a look that begged her to be patient. America carefully considered his request. Maxon _did_ like his surprises. She reluctantly relented and he gave her a huge smile as reward.

Maxon and Gerad went out to finish their shoot-out and America stayed outside with her mother to watch them. May, Kenna, and James all went inside to clean up the dishes, Astra following Kenna closely.

"He's good with Gerad." Magda said, happily, once she and America were alone.

"Yeah. I especially like that about him." America said. "God, I can't believe how much Gerad is starting to look like Dad."

"I know what you mean. It's such a blessing. All this time, I thought I'd never look into your father's face again. Now, suddenly it's peeking out at me over the breakfast table. It's a miracle."

America looked over at her mother. "I wish…" But she stopped herself. She wished her father could have lived to see this house and to see his family so well-fed and happy and thriving. To see the changes in this country that he'd loved, brought about by his daughter and his son-in-law.

Magda peered back over at America, and for a moment they locked eyes. "I know, honey. Me, too."

Maxon and Gerad came jogging over, Maxon lagging behind and sweating quite a bit. "Wow." Maxon said, coming to a stop in front of America. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You look good to me." America smiled up at him and offered him the rest of her tea.

"I'm serious, I need to spend more time training with the guards." Maxon gasped, gulping down the drink.

America laughed, "Right, we'll schedule that in just between budget negotiations and international relations meetings, why don't we?"

Maxon shrugged, seeing her point, and then he handed her the empty glass. "Did everyone else go back inside?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going in to dry off and talk to May. Stay here until I come and get you?"

"Maxon—"

"_Please_, America?"

America waved a hand in a queenly fashion, as if to dismiss a servant, and Maxon kissed her quickly before bounding off. Gerad followed after him.

"Why won't you let him have his secrets?" Magda asked, in a nagging tone.

"Maxon and I aren't very good at secrets." America explained. "Secrets tend to lead us to misunderstandings, which leads to fighting. One time, it nearly led to him proposing to Kriss Ambers instead of me. We gave up secrets after that."

Magda simply shrugged, "You should go easier on him, America. He's a good man, and he never does a thing without thinking of how it will affect you."

"I know that, Mom. Maxon and I are fine, I promise." America sighed. First May, now Mom. Everyone had to have their say in her relationship with Maxon. Every magazine, every one of Maxon's advisers, and now every woman in her family. It wasn't hard to see why Maxon vehemently despised people trying to tell him what to do. He'd been dealing with this for his whole life.

Gerad came back out with a tall glass of water, and Astra followed him. She wanted a turn with the ball. Soon Kenna came to find out what had become of her daughter, and then James to see what had become of his wife. May was the last one out, and she tapped America on the shoulder. "Maxon wants to see you."

"Where is he?"

"Living room." May grinned.

"What have you two been working on?"

"You'll see." May gave her two hands up from the chair and then an eager little push towards the door.

America found Maxon in the living room, an enormous framed painting half his size turned to face him so that America could not see it.

"Max?" America asked. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

"Yes!" Maxon grinned, glancing up at her, then back down to the painting. He was uncertain about something. "Thank you for being patient. I have something for you."

"A painting?"

"Yes. I called May last night, and she agreed to find the right one for me. I think she did rather well."

"Where did it come from?" America asked.

"Well, that's the thing." Maxon said. "Come and sit down, won't you?"

America perched on the edge of the couch facing Maxon's side. She still couldn't see the front of the painting. "Did she paint something for me?" America asked.

"No." Maxon shook his head, then spun the framed canvas around. America's eyes widened, her heart leapt into her throat, and her mouth went completely dry.

The breathtaking figure of a winged woman was painted in broad, quick strokes, with bright, brilliant oil-based paint. She was depicted standing up on her toes as if about to take flight, clutching a necklace around her delicate neck, wild stunning red hair flying around her as if weightless. The woman had blue songbird wings spread wide and a golden crown on her head that seemed to glow with its own light. There was a crowd of awe-inspired people below her, gazing up at her, amazed. The color in the painting faded into nothing on the sides, the crowd was no more than charcoal sketches and the lower half of the woman's dress and her face were just grey outlines. It wasn't a complete portrait, but America knew immediately who had painted it. "Daddy?" she breathed, stunned.

Maxon nodded. "This is the last piece your father ever made. It was for you. May thought about trying to finish it for you and giving it to you as a wedding present, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to disturb your father's work. But when I called and asked her if we could have one of your father's paintings for the Palace, this was the first thing that popped into her mind."

"It's… it's me, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"But how did he know?" America gently brushed her fingers across the golden crown adorning the ethereal red hair. That hair looked like a sunset, the mix of paint her father had used to create the color was astonishing. 'Beautiful' was too weak a word to describe the colors her father _had _managed to put on this canvass. "He died before you proposed, he didn't know I'd… be Queen."

"According to your sister and your mother, he started it the night of the Convicting. Watching you save that man using the necklace he'd given you inspired him. Your Mom swears that was the moment he realized that you were really going to win. It hit him hard, that his daughter was going to be the next Queen of Illéa. And he knew _exactly_ what kind of Queen you'd be. He wanted to paint it, but he… he didn't get it finished in time."

"It's still so beautiful." America whispered. When had she knelt to the floor in front of the painting? When had the tears started flowing down her cheeks? "God, Maxon… this is amazing. This is… this is…"

Maxon kissed the top of her head, leant the painting back against the coffee table and then knelt down to gather her in his arms. "I'm sorry he can't be here to share this with us. But he knew it was coming, Love. He had no doubt that you would be my choice. Look how proud he was of you!" Maxon stroked her back and rested his chin on top of her head, listening to her gurgling breaths as she tried to stop crying. "I was thinking we could hang this in the nursery. She could watch over our baby, and the one after that, and the one after that, and so on."

"You did it." America turned her head to look at him, blue eyes wide with surprise. "Maxon, you actually did it. I can't believe it."

"What did I do?"

"You brought him here." It was like a piece of her dad was with them, now, through this painting. Just in time for them to announce the baby. "I didn't think you could, but you did… Thank you." America whispered, pulling him in for a tight, desperate hug.

"See, and now you _finally_ learned your lesson about questioning me." Maxon joked, and America laughed, but it was a wet, tearful sound.

Maxon got up and brought her a damp washrag to press to her eyes, which helped with the puffiness. She sipped a glass of water and finally they decided to call everyone inside and get on with the announcement. They'd put it off long enough.

"What's this about, Ames?" May asked, as the Singers and James found seats in the living room.

America, whose eyes were only vaguely tinged with red now, replied, "Maxon and I need your help with something. All of you."

"What kind of help, America?" Magda asked. It had been years and years since her middle daughter had come to her asking for help.

"We should tell them first." Maxon said to America.

"I know."

"Whenever you're ready." Maxon took her hand. They were seated on two dining room chairs that James had brought in so that everyone would have somewhere to sit. Astra was in May's lap, and Gerad was crisscrossed on the floor, but they all pretty much fit. Every eye in the room was on Maxon and America.

America took a deep breath, and then looked one more time at her father's painting, now leaning in a corner by the front door. Then she said, "Well, guys, the thing is…" She took a deep breath and braced herself. No going back now. "I'm pregnant."

Kenna's smile was the widest in the room. Everyone else oscillated between looks of stunned surprise and eventual glee. Even Gerad was happy. May leapt up with Astra on her hip and hugged America tightly. "Oh, Ames, this is the _best_ news."

"I know."

"Congratulations." May's bright eyes teared up as she looked America over, then looked Maxon over, then squealed excitedly, "I'm _so_ happy!"

"Good." America grinned. Astra clearly didn't understand what was happening, but since she and May were so close to America anyway, she leaned over and planted a kiss on the tip of America's nose. "Thank you, Astra." America laughed.

Magda didn't say anything, she just smiled warmly over at America. Proudly, even. James took advantage of the opportunity to shake Maxon's hand enthusiastically, "Congratulations, Maxon." James smiled. Maxon had the silliest grin on his face as he thanked him. This might be one of Maxon's new favorite hobbies, America realized. Telling people about the baby.

"When?" May asked, eagerly, returning to her seat on the couch. "When are you having the baby, America?"

Maxon answered, because he just couldn't contain himself. "Late December."

"A Christmas baby!" May exclaimed, as though all of her dreams were coming true.

"Just after Astra's fourth birthday, then." Kenna smiled.

"Pretty close." America nodded.

"But that must make you…" Kenna faltered, trying to do the math.

"Almost five weeks along." America helped her. "It's still _very_ early. Which is good, for Maxon and me."

"So is that the heir, then?" May asked, excitedly. "Is that little bun in your oven going to take over for Maxon one day?"

America glanced over at Maxon, who was busy grinning at the idea of 'a little bun' in America's 'oven'. But when he caught his wife's expression, he nodded and spoke up, "That's what we need your help with. We want this baby to be my heir, but as the law stands now, that will only happen if it's a boy."

"Or if it's a girl and we have no other children." America added.

"Or, if it's a girl, and we only have girls." Maxon agreed. "So we're trying to amend the law, so that this child, boy, girl, or as it looks now, pod-monster, can ascend the throne after me. No matter what."

There was a long beat of silence, as the others in the room absorbed this information. Kenna was looking at America, very satisfied. They'd spoken about this back when it had all been theory, the theoretical baby and the theoretical amendment, and Kenna seemed to very much approve that America and Maxon were moving forward with actually changing the law.

"…You've seen it?" Magda finally spoke. "You've seen the baby?"

"Yes." America said. "We… we had an ultrasound done, last week." In her wildest dreams, Magda never would have imagined being able to see any of her children before they were born. She'd heard of such machines, but only peripherally. She'd never known anyone to use one before. "Maxon, could you?"

"Of course." Maxon nodded, pulling the ultrasound image out of his back pocket and then handing it to his mother-in-law.

"It looks just like Maxon, doesn't it?" America joked. Magda was too busy gaping, in awe, at blob in the image to laugh. Gerad ran over and peeked down at it from over their mother's shoulder.

"That's a baby?" Gerad asked, skeptically.

"It will be." America assured him. "Once it grows up a little."

"Hm." Gerad considered it. "And it will be the prince or princess?"

"Yes." Maxon nodded.

"Will it have to learn art?" Gerad asked, frowning.

America considered it, "Maybe. We haven't talked about it yet. Do you think I should teach it the violin?"

"No." Gerad answered, honestly.

"What about diplomacy?" Maxon asked. "Should I teach it how to get along with other countries to avoid war?"

"No." Gerad replied again.

"What should we teach it?" America asked, amused.

"I don't know." Gerad ran a hand through his hair, reminding America irresistibly of Maxon. "You should let it learn whatever it wants to learn."

America smiled over at him, shifting Maxon's and her joined hands over so that they rested on her knee. "We should ask this baby what it wants to do? Let it choose for itself?"

"Yeah." Gerad nodded, pleased to be understood. "Of course."

'Of course'. There was the response America had been searching for for months now. She'd pitched this amendment dozens of times to dozens of different people, Kriss, Kenna, Maxon, Stavros, the Advisers, the Queen's Council, and no one, not once, had ever replied with, 'Yeah. Of course.'

"You know what, Ger?" America said, gratitude all over her face. "I completely agree. Right now, there's a law that says that if this baby is a girl, we have to pick a prince from another country and make her move to that country and marry him, whether she wants to or not."

Gerad was slow to process this, but the look on his face was unhappy. He looked down at the ultrasound picture again, then back up at America. "Why?"

"Because…" but America wasn't sure what to say.

"Because my great-great grandfather wanted it that way." Maxon replied. "But I don't. And America and I are trying to change it. But we need your help. All of you."

America nodded. "We have an amendment to the law, ready and drafted. But in order for it to pass without putting the monarchy in danger, without risking being overthrown, Maxon and I need to be popular. Very popular."

"How popular?" May asked, softly. The idea of Maxon and America being overthrown had cast a sobering pall on the room.

"Much more popular than any other monarchs in the history of Illéa." Maxon said.

"And one way for us to get more popular is for you guys to go out and represent us. Be photographed doing wonderful things, things you're each best at, and that will help raise our popularity." America said. "Once we're past a safe threshold, Maxon's advisers will formally propose the amendment and he'll pass it. It'll mean that any firstborn princess can inherit the throne, and no princesses can ever be told who to marry."

America checked back in with Gerad. It didn't look like he'd followed every single word of their explanation, but he had a determined look on his face. He'd understood the important part.

"If I let cameras come to my soccer games, will that help the baby?"

America shared a look with her mother. They'd been so careful about shielding Gerad as much as possible from the spotlight, and letting him be as normal a boy as it was possible for him to be. "We'll see, Ger. That's very nice of you to offer to help, though."

"Did you have something specific in mind for us, Ames?" Kenna asked, looking worried. She and James clearly wanted to help, but they didn't know how. Kenna mostly stayed at home to look after Astra, and James worked in an office.

"We'll have the Palace send over a list of events and ideas, and you can choose any, all, or none of them." Maxon said. "It's entirely up to you."

"You guys…" Kenna shook her head. "_Of course_ we're going to help you. You and America are family, Maxon. And that baby is family, too. I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to give it its best shot."

America smiled over at her protective big sister and said, "Wow, Ken. You're going to be a _fantastic_ aunt." Kenna smiled appreciatively at this.

"So basically, you need me to go to more parties and stuff?" May asked, happily. "Like, I can somehow help my baby niece or nephew and help you and Maxon, _and _party?"

"Parties are a good start." Maxon said, when America began to object to May's blatant wildness. "But philanthropy is even better. Volunteering, attending benefits… or just going shopping at a local market and allowing yourself to be photographed there. Gavril says that being in the public eye doing normal, everyday things will endear you, and as a result, _us_, in the minds of the people."

"You know what I think we need?" May said, impishly. "I think we need a meeting with _Gavril _so that we can hear more about what he says will help."

"Well, I suppose—" Maxon began, but America placed her hand gently on his knee to stop him. Now their hands were crossed on each other's knees.

"What's the real reason, you monkey?" America narrowed her eyes at May, suspiciously.

"Mom has a crush on Gavril!" May sang.

"She does _not_!" America exclaimed, scandalized, and looked over to find Magda covering her face with a hand, hiding a blush. "Mom!"

Kenna stepped in as mediator before America could absolutely lose her mind, "To be fair, Mom has always been a big fan of Gavril, even before Dad died. And Gavril is a very handsome man her age. So what if Mom has a little crush on Gavril Fadaye?"

"I'm going to vomit." America mumbled, shaking her head.

"Morning sickness?" May asked.

"Family sickness." America snapped. "Gavril's an adviser and—"

"A fox." May laughed.

"This isn't funny." America frowned but May just kept laughing. "God, May, you're such a _brat_."

"Love," Maxon finally intervened. "Could we speak for just a moment? Privately?"

America cast a death glare at her younger sister, then let Maxon lead her down the hall and into the master bedroom that James and Kenna shared. He closed the door behind them.

"Take a breath, Ames."

"I'm fine. May is just needling me because she knows she'll get a reaction."

"But this is the second time today." Maxon said, softly.

"Second time for what? May annoys me _all _the time."

"First May and her new boyfriend, now your mother being attracted to someone—"

"Maxon—"

"Both times you… well, you freaked out. But I know you want your mother and May to be happy. And it's just a harmless crush on a national celebrity. Gavril is a highly eligible bachelor, why shouldn't your mother have a crush on him?"

"Because… Just, because."

"You can't… Oh, Ames… things are not the same as they were when your father died. Everyone in your family is different now, that's how it's supposed to be. May is growing up, you have to let her do that. And if your mom starts looking at other men now, that's okay, too. We don't stop living when those we love die, and we don't try to make everyone else stop, either."

"Was that what I was doing?" America asked, brow furrowing. "_Making_ people stop living?"

"It could be that that's your instinct. To protect the world your father left behind. But you know, if he were here, he'd want you all to be happy. Even if that means letting your mother have a thing for one of my advisers." Even Maxon found it funny.

America pressed her forehead to his shoulder, thinking about what he was saying. It certainly _felt_ true. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. I'll…"

"Take a breath?"

"Take a breath." America nodded. "Although, to be fair, I don't think my dad would like the idea of May getting 'physical' with some guy named 'Jax', even if it does make her happy."

Maxon frowned, and his brow knitted unhappily. "She's been getting 'physical'?"

"_That__'__s_ what I said." America nodded, pointing to Maxon's horrified face and leading them back to the living room.

She and Maxon only got to stay for another hour before they had to go back to the Palace, but when they left, America had the complete support of her family and a painting by her father testifying to his support, too. What's more, now that America had told her family, the whole team was in place for this baby; The King, the Queen, the entire royal family, the King's Council, and the Queen's Council all working together towards the common goal of enacting this amendment to the laws of inheritance. America just had to hope that it would all be enough.


	19. Chapter 19

The unfortunate thing about morning sickness, which no one had ever bothered to tell America about beforehand, is that it is not, in fact, confined to the morning. Whoever claimed to have morning sickness that only hit them in the mornings was either an outrageous liar or had made some kind of deal with the devil for a reprieve in exchange for her soul. So, being completely unaware of the true nature of 'morning' sickness, it took America totally by surprise when her first bout of vomiting hit her at around 4:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday in the middle of a date with Maxon.

He'd done a very nice thing and taken the weekend off to spend it with her, now that they were headed into summer and the least busy time of the year at the Palace. He was making good on his promise to be there for her, this time by packing a snack of roast beef sandwiches and sparkling water to be consumed on their bench in the gardens. Unfortunately for them, the plants had been freshly fertilized that morning. The smell of the fertilizer was America's downfall. She ended up hung over a rosebush vomiting into the space between hedges with Maxon, somewhat alarmed, sympathetically patting her shoulder like she'd taught him to do with crying girls. It did not have the same soothing effect on vomiting girls, they'd learned, as she snapped at him between heaves to stop pawing her.

They gave up trying to snack and decided to bring their date inside, so that America could be near a toilet. The nausea passed and once she'd brushed her teeth, she went back to enjoying her time with Maxon only to have it interrupted again in the middle of dinner by vomit brought on by the smell of the orange sauce slathered on top of their chicken. Apparently, this baby was not a fan of healthy gardens or flavorful meats, and didn't want anyone else to enjoy them either. What a tyrant. This time, America made it to a trashcan just in time. The staff was really grateful that she hadn't had to use her backup plan and vomit into the nearest vase she could get to.

With the dramatics of the previous day, America was completely expecting to be up bright and early and spending her morning knelt before the toilet like its loyal subject. Maxon woke up at the crack of dawn to go and survey some of the grounds around the Palace with a few of the guards, looking for weaknesses in security. Even on his weekends off, he wasn't totally free. Without Maxon to eat breakfast with, America felt no big compulsion to leave her bed. She'd warned Mary not to wake or feed her, because she'd been counting on feeling sick. She was expecting the famous 'morning' sickness to wake her up, and since it never came, she slept straight through. Finally, Mary came poking around to check on her, having heard through the grapevine that no one in the Palace had seen their Queen that morning.

"Your Majesty?" Mary's warm voice cut through the fog and grogginess and America peeked her eye open.

"I told you not to wake me this morning." America reminded her.

"I didn't wake you this morning. It's now noon, your Majesty, and Lucy is on her way to the Palace with Commander Leger as we speak. You gave me the afternoon off so that I could spend some time with her, I'd like to do that, so let's get you fed and dressed so that I can relax, shall we?"

America yawned and stretched deeply, rolling onto her stomach and arching her back. While stretching, she let out something of a squeaky sigh, reconciling herself to the idea of being awake. "I haven't slept 'til noon in years." America remarked, curling up in a ball under the covers and catching a whiff of Maxon on the pillow next to hers.

"I believe his Majesty and I are being more lenient on you." Mary smirked, walking into the bathroom to draw America's bath. "Letting you sleep while you still can."

"Last Friday, Dr. Ashlar said my red blood cell count is much higher. I'm not anemic anymore, he said I'm supposed to be getting some of my energy back now. I wonder if this is normal..."

"I don't know, your Majesty." Mary called.

It was a very good thing that Lucy was coming over for lunch that day, because America was only just realizing how much she still had to learn about being pregnant. "On days when I sleep 'til noon, will you call me 'America'?"

"Absolutely not." Mary's voice replied, amused.

America shrugged and sat up in bed. It had been worth a shot.

"How are you feeling today, your Majesty?" Mary asked, walking back into the room. The sound of the water running into the bath echoed out of the bathroom behind her.

"Fine. Perfectly healthy. Confused, but not nauseous."

"Confused?"

"If I spent yesterday afternoon and evening sick with 'morning' sickness, why didn't it get me in the actual morning, today?"

"I really couldn't say, your Majesty. Would you like me to have an extra appointment scheduled with Dr. Ashlar this week?"

"No, I don't think so." America said. "It's hard to justify bothering him when the problem is that I'm_ not_ sick."

"Oh, that does remind me." Mary said, going into America's closet to hunt down a day dress. "I've caught my first hint of baby gossip."

"You have?"

"Just a rumor, nothing more, circulating through the ranks of the footmen. Justin brought it to my attention." Justin was the head of the King's staff, and between Mary and him, they kept the Palace running.

"Because of the vomiting yesterday?" America asked.

Mary reappeared, a pale blue day dress on her arms. "Yes. It's the merest rumor, the conversation went something along the lines of 'I heard the Queen was throwing up because she's pregnant.' to which the response was, 'No way. I don't believe it. She probably just caught a flu while she was out visiting her family last weekend.' If Justin quoted them correctly."

America laughed, "It still has the ring of Palace gossip to it. That's good."

Mary went over to the teapot and began making America a cup. "Make no mistake, your Majesty, that's the spark from which a great, overwhelming wildfire will erupt, and every time you oversleep or suffer morning sickness, you will fan the flames."

"Flames aren't so bad, I suppose." America sighed. "I'm meant to be starting this kind of rumor right about now. Gavril has Maxon and me making a public appearance on Monday at a well-photographed party at the Mayor of Angeles' mansion."

"That doesn't seem so odd, your Majesty."

"We're only going so that I can refuse to drink the wine, fake feeling faint, and leave." America rolled her eyes even as she gratefully accepted the tea Mary was offering her.

"I see." Mary perched on the side of the bed.

"It's ridiculous. There are minutes, whole minutes at a time where I feel like this pregnancy is really ours. Maxon's and mine. But then I turn around and I'm being asked to 'fake feeling faint' so that people will like me more, and I just feel like nothing more than some kind of chess piece. Like I'm not a person, I'm just a queen on a chessboard." America sighed, trying to find a better way to explain it. "I think it's... like a pendulum. Sometimes I'm a person, and sometimes I'm the Queen. Being a person feels right, and I want to be a person all the time. Especially when it comes to this baby. But I have to be the Queen, it's my obligation, and... that part doesn't feel as good."

"Sometimes it does, your Majesty." Mary reminded her, sympathetically. "Your position allows you to do great things. And on those days, you wear the crown with grace and dignity."

"That's true." America sighed. "And sometimes I go to work and get told that I need to gain a few pounds so the people won't worry about the health of the baby when they find out."

Mary pursed her lips in dismay, but did not immediately respond. "You're perfectly healthy, your Majesty, and so is the baby. Anyone who wants you to put on additional weight for the sake of show has lost sight of what really matters."

"Thanks, Mary." America smiled weakly up at her and handed her the teacup, and her stomach growled loudly. "I know we're having lunch with Lucy, but could you-"

"Of course." Mary nodded. "I saw the chef with fresh egg sandwiches not twenty minutes ago."

"One of those, please. And an apple."

"We got a shipment honeycrisps in this morning." Mary winked.

"Yes, please!" America grinned, standing up and tossing her nightdress onto her bed, on her way to the hot, soapy bath.

* * *

The car America sent for Lucy and Aspen arrived at exactly 1:00, as planned. America practically flew down the steps of the Palace when she saw them pull up and the chauffeur opened the backseat passenger door. Aspen let himself out of the other side and came around the car to help Lucy. It took the combined efforts of Aspen and Lucy to get her out of that back seat and upright, and no sooner was she standing than America launched herself into Lucy's arms.

It was really hard to hug Lucy with her enormous belly between them, but that didn't stop them from trying. "I've missed you so much!" America said, feeling oddly weepy at the sight of her friend.

"I've missed you, too!" Lucy grinned. "I'm so happy to be here."

"I'm never letting you leave again." America pretended.

Aspen placed his hand protectively on Lucy's lower back. "Let's get inside." he said, curtly. He still wasn't very happy with America.

Aspen helped Lucy carefully waddle up the front steps of the Palace and America kept Lucy's pace beside her, asking about the journey over and how her father was doing and how excited Aspen's family was for the baby. This got them all the way to the first floor lounge, where they would be eating lunch that day. They could have gone to the dining room, but the truth was that it was a long walk from the entryway to the dining room, and every step was a little bit of a battle for Lucy, as big as her belly was and as tiny as her frame was.

"Where's the King?" Lucy asked, slightly winded, as she basically fell back into one of the sofas in the lounge. Aspen took the seat next to her and America sat in an armchair facing her.

"He'll be down in a minute. He's upstairs getting cleaned up." She said the next part to Aspen, "He spent the morning inspecting the perimeter." and Aspen nodded his understanding, but offered no other response.

America sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Then she realized that she'd picked up yet another habit from Maxon. "Aspen, we should talk."

"What about, your Majesty?" his eyes were cold.

America shook her head, "Don't you dare 'your Majesty' me right now, Aspen Leger."

"You let that man defund our clinics." Aspen frowned.

"I'm keeping the clinics funded, Aspen!" America exclaimed. The problem with the men in her life was that they never let her explain properly before they ran off and became all 'wounded' and then sometimes threatened to propose to Kriss Ambers. "That's the part you weren't there for. I'm _not_ going to let them close, no matter what. And I would love it if you could help me think of ideas for raising money instead of sulking and ignoring me. I would also appreciate the benefit of the doubt."

"…You're not closing the clinics?" Aspen asked, his face clearly registering his surprise. He'd spent a week brooding about this.

"You should have known better." America said, bitterly. "You've known me longer than anyone else at the Palace. You know I'd never do that."

Lucy, who was looking wide-eyed between her husband and America interjected. "Do... what, exactly?"

"You didn't tell her?" America asked, taken aback.

"I didn't want to upset her."

"Maybe she'd have set you straight and reminded you that I would never just walk away from my clinics!" America scowled.

Aspen looked at America like he didn't want to believe the good news. "You're really going to keep them open?"

"Somehow, some way." America nodded.

Aspen smiled at her, just a small smile, a 'we're not fighting anymore' smile. America sighed, rolled her eyes and accepted it with a nod. She would have also accepted, you know, an _apology_.

"So, I missed something. Who's going to fill me in?" Lucy asked.

By the time Aspen and America were done explaining, as best they could without disclosing classified information, what had happened in the meeting the previous week, Maxon had joined them and Mary was there, too, in her casual clothes, a very pretty green dress and a pair of tan heels. It was so strange to see Mary in color, but the dress complimented her eyes magnificently and seemed to make her dark hair stand out in lovely contrast to her skin tone.

Aspen and Maxon sat together on a settee near the empty fireplace and discussed Maxon's walkabout that morning. Mary took Aspen's vacated spot on the couch and the ladies sat there for a long moment, just smiling at each other.

"I can't even tell you how good it is to see both of your faces together again." America grinned.

"It's good to be here." Lucy smiled. "I miss being at the Palace."

"You'll start coming back once you have the baby, won't you?" Mary asked, anxiously.

"As long as I'm invited, I'll always come back." Lucy nodded.

America smiled, "You and that baby are welcome here, any time, any day. Just say the word."

"So what's it like?" Mary asked, leaning forward and clasping her hands together. "Can you feel the baby in there?"

"Oh, yes." Lucy smiled. "I know exactly where the baby is. You can feel it, too, if you want to."

"How?" America asked.

"It's enormous." Lucy smiled. "Give me your hand." America eagerly held out her hand and Lucy took it gently, guiding it down onto her vast belly. Lucy kept their hands towards the top and felt around for a moment to find what she was looking for, before pressing America's hand to the exact spot, towards the top of her tummy and a little to the left. "That's the baby's foot." Lucy said.

America's eyes widened, and she pressed her hands a little bit harder to Lucy's belly. Sure enough, she could feel the outline of a little, tiny foot through Lucy's dress and skin. "Oh, my goodness!" It was so weird and wonderful. America gave the foot a little tickle and received a kick for her troubles, which made Lucy laugh.

"Maxon! Get over here!" America grinned.

"What is it?" Maxon asked, concerned. But once he saw what was going on across the room, with his wife's hand on Lucy's belly, his face relaxed into a smile.

"I felt the baby kick."

"You got the baby to kick?" Aspen asked, surprised. "The baby never kicks for me."

"Look, Maxon, look." America practically yanked Maxon's hand, guiding it to the exact spot on Lucy's stomach where the baby's foot was. "That's the foot. Do you feel a little baby foot?"

Maxon made a face, "How extraordinary." It was extraordinary. And totally strange. They were practically touching an unborn baby, it was odd to say the least.

"Come on, baby. Kick for Uncle Maxon." America cooed, running a finger along Lucy's belly pleadingly. After a moment, it worked, and Maxon leapt back, pulling his hand away as if scalded.

"Good God." Maxon said, staring at Lucy's stomach in awe. "Does it do that often?"

"Not as much anymore, your Majesty." Lucy replied. "A few months ago I couldn't get it to stop kicking, but now that space is so tight in there, it's calmed down."

"Where's it's head?" America asked, eagerly.

"Somewhere in the middle of my body." Lucy said. "I can feel it."

"What?" America's eyes were wide as saucers.

"It used to be right around here." Lucy rubbed her lower belly with her hand. "But this past week, I've felt it moving lower. Lena says that it's because I'm going to give birth soon. The baby's moving into position."

America grinned at Lucy, then up to Aspen. "That's amazing." She had more questions, tens of thousands of questions, and she breathlessly asked the next one to cross her mind, "Is it painful right now? Are you in pain?"

"Not really _pain_." Lucy said. "My back hurts most of the time, but I'm almost used to that. It's really just general discomfort. There's no way to fit two people in my body comfortably. And I'm always hungry or tired or…" She blushed. America knew what she'd been about to say, Marlee complained about it all the time when she was pregnant with Kile. The frequent trips to the bathroom.

"When did your morning sickness go away?" America asked, absolutely spellbound by every word coming from Lucy's mouth

"My morning sickness? Why—" A suspicious look cross Lucy's face. "You're awfully curious, your Majesty. I don't remember Lady Marlee getting questions like this when she was expecting Kile."

America blinked and sat up straight. "I'm so sorry, Lucy, was I prying?"

"I don't mind, your Majesty, I just don't really understand." Lucy said, soothingly.

America nodded and licked her lips. "It's just that I'm pregnant." America said, softly, "And I got my first real symptom yesterday and… I could use all of the advice that I can get."

It took Lucy a long moment to answer, she was stunned. But when she finally did respond, it was with an _enormous_ grin on her face. "Month three. Right around week twelve, maybe a little before or a little after." She shook her head as if shaking away a few errant thoughts. "That's when the morning sickness usually stops. Until then, saltine crackers… the little ones they put in the soup here?"

"Yes?" America whispered.

"You wouldn't believe how much they help. Keep them with you everywhere you go. I'd also recommend a bag of mints." There was wonder in her voice, even as she relayed such grounded information.

"Mints?" America asked, surprised.

"They help with the nausea. If Mary starts using a mint oil on your skin, if you use mint body cleanser and mint lotions, maybe keep a mint gloss with you for your lips… the scent settles the stomach." she had a dazed, amazed look in her eyes, and her lips were still smiling.

"Mints." America repeated.

"Mints." Lucy confirmed, sniffling a little. "I'm so happy for you, your Majesty."

"Can't you even call me 'America' _today_?" America begged. "One pregnant lady to another?" she joked.

Lucy shook her head, still smiling, "I just like to say it. After all of the work we put in to get you through that Selection… I just like hearing it and saying it and knowing that the title is _yours_. And now, after all the dresses we sewed and the hours we spent on hair and makeup and preparing you to be a princess… now you're the Queen and you're… you're having a baby, and…" Tears leaked from the corners of Lucy's eyes and she wiped them away quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm overwhelmed."

"I know what you mean." America sniffled, working furiously to hold her own tears at bay. She'd never have made it to the end of the Selection without Anne, Mary, and Lucy's loyalty and dedication. Which meant, by extension, that she'd never have married Maxon or conceived this baby, growing rapidly inside her. She owed them everything.

Maxon and Aspen cast each other nervous looks. Both of their pregnant wives were weepy, and they weren't exactly sure how to fix it. Maxon and Aspen were fixers by nature, and it was hard for them to accept that sometimes they had to sit still and be supportive because there was no way for them to actually take any of the burden of pregnancy away from America or Lucy.

"Would tea help?" Maxon finally offered, uncertainly.

America laughed and squeezed his hand. "Tea would help tremendously. Don't you think so, Lucy?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Lucy nodded.

"I'll go." Mary stood.

"No, Mary, you have this afternoon off." America objected.

"I don't mind. I want to go and make sure things are running smoothly down there." Mary said, before excusing herself.

Maxon squeezed into the armchair with America, and Aspen retook the seat next to Lucy. Aspen and Lucy described their baby's nursery to America and Maxon, it was painted forrest green with white accents and Lucy's father made the crib they were using. Carved it from some old redwood. Apparently, it was beautiful. America couldn't wait to see it.

Maxon was just beginning to describe some of the ideas he'd had for the nursery, when there was a brisk knock at the door and a guard named Markson entered, bowed to Maxon, then to America, and then stood upright. "I'm sorry to disturb your Majesties, but I have urgent news."

Maxon stood, gave America a hand up from the chair, and they both crossed the room quickly, but Markson turned back to Aspen and Lucy, "Commander Leger, it's good that you're here. You should hear this."

Aspen frowned and joined the others, leaving Lucy looking worried and alone on the far side of the room.

"Report." Aspen commanded and Markson nodded.

"We've received a video transmission from a group claiming to be rebels."

America and Maxon locked eyes, and each knew the other was thinking the same thing. How did these rebels get their hands on a video camera? Video cameras were outrageously expensive and relatively hard to come by. They returned their eyes to Markson.

Aspen said, "What kind of threat did this video transmission contain?"

Markson looked uncomfortable and confused, "It's hard to say, sir. It's in security room A, and Stavros has already summoned Commander Illéa to examine the recording."

"I should go." Aspen said, turning to America. "But Lucy—"

"You both go." America said, placing a hand on Maxon's shoulder. "I'll stay with Lucy. But I want to hear everything when you're done for the night. _Everything_."

"I promise." Maxon nodded, with a worried frown. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and waited for Aspen to finish his goodbyes with Lucy.

"What's going on?" Lucy asked, as soon as the door was closed and their husbands were gone.

"I don't know, exactly. A rebel transmission." America shrugged. "They'll figure it out." she tried to downplay the gravity of the situation, she didn't want Lucy to worry.

"Your Majesty…" Lucy trailed off. "America. Go somewhere safe, for this pregnancy. Go to Italy, or maybe England. Get far away from those rebels and their reach. As long as you're at this palace, you and your baby are at risk." A slight tremor went through Lucy's hand, resting on her enormous belly.

America sighed and sank down onto the couch next to Lucy. When she replied, it was gently. "I'm the Queen now. I don't get to run away. And this baby is Maxon's heir."

"Only if it's a boy." Lucy reasoned, desperately.

America frowned. Lucy wasn't an adviser or a member of the royal family, she couldn't know about the amendment they were working on. So America tried a different route, "Even if it's a girl, it will be Maxon's only child for a little while. It will be born Maxon's heir, even if that status changes later. I can't give birth to Maxon's only heir whilst hiding out in Italy, Lucy."

Lucy peered over at her with those wide, frightened eyes. "You always were so brave. I knew you'd make the _best_ princess."

But, at the moment, America didn't feel very brave. Lucy had a good point. This palace was a beautiful, golden cage, but possibly no place to raise a baby.

When Mary returned with the tea, she took over the bulk of the responsibility for conversation for a while, which was good for America because she was busy worrying about what was happening in security room A. Esther, the maid America was still toying with the idea of promoting pending Mary's approval, brought them their lunch. Mary watched with a kind, yet critical eye as Esther served. Lucy kept an eye on her, too, and as soon as Esther curtseyed to dismiss herself, and closed the door to the lounge behind her, America turned to Mary and Lucy.

"What do you think?"

"She's very good at serving." Mary said, professionally. "She's a good attendant maid, but that doesn't mean she'll be a good ladies maid."

Lucy countered, "If she's smart enough to be a good attendant maid, then she's smart enough to learn all of the intricacies of being a ladies maid. You need smart ones, your Majesty."

"I don't know. To bring her into the Queen's bedroom…" Mary shook her head. It was the highest honor for a maid, having a position in America's room.

"Don't forget, she knows about the baby." America said.

"How?" Lucy asked.

As they dug into their tomato basil soup, America recounted the story about how she told Maxon she was pregnant in the first place. Sending that little note in to interrupt his budget meeting.

"She's known about the baby for three weeks now." America said. "And still, not so much as a whisper about babies until I started throwing up all over the place." Lucy smiled sympathetically at this.

"You trust her, your Majesty?" Mary asked.

America considered this. "I think she is trust-worthy. She's proven that to me. I don't know that I'd trust her as well as I trust you and Paige, or Lucy, but that's not really a fair comparison, is it? I met Paige on the night I was shot and she kept me calm while Maxon and Aspen searched for me. My life was in her hands, and she kept me safe. And you and I bonded in the crucible of the Selection, those were once in a lifetime circumstances. Esther is unlikely to have the same opportunity to prove herself."

Mary sighed, and added this consideration to her weighing of things. "I will need an extra pair of hands keeping clothes on your back… if your belly grows anywhere as fast as this one's did." Mary beamed over at Lucy and Lucy giggled. "What do you think, Lucy?"

"She protected your baby, your Majesty." Lucy said. "Give her a chance."

"Well?" America asked Mary.

Mary nodded, slowly. "I'll interview her. If she seems like a good fit, I'll start training her. But she won't set foot in your room until I'm positive that she's ready. And if she gives me any reason to doubt her loyalty or her capacity—" Mary shook her head.

"Of course." America nodded. A chance. A chance at one of the most prestigious positions in the Palace. That would be Esther's reward, the one America had promised her for keeping silent about the baby.

When the clock struck 8:00, and Maxon and Aspen still had not sent word about their progress in the meeting, America instructed that the guest room on the second floor that had been hers during the Selection be turned down for the evening. Lucy would sleep there tonight, and Aspen would join her if the meeting ever ended.

It was fun, being back in that old room with Lucy. It was hard to find pajamas that would fit her, but Paige helped, and they found a nightdress that did the trick well enough. America stayed with Lucy, talking softly about their babies, and all the hopes and fears that went along with having babies, until Lucy couldn't stifle her yawns any longer. America vowed to see her at breakfast.

After quietly leaving the room Lucy was sleeping in, America all but ran to the security meeting and slipped quietly through the door. She saw Maxon, Aspen, and August, as well as Stavros, Gavril and several assistant advisers and lower-level security assistants that America had never been introduced to. There was a large screen at the front of the room that all of the men were facing, and on it a video was paused. A man knelt in a basement, his hands bound behind his back, his mouth tied in a gag. America did not recognize the man, and could not tell if he was someone important.

Maxon had been in casual clothes for their dinner, but at some point he'd had a footman go and fetch a suit for him. If the man on the screen was in danger and Maxon was working to save his life, then America knew that Maxon would want to show some respect and dress like a king. However, it was kind of a lost cause, because Maxon's tie was loose, his jacket was on the other side of the room, his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was a handsome, but worrisome mess. Maxon was in full freakout mode.

America slipped over to a cart of food she saw in the corner and poured a cup of steaming black coffee, then crept up behind Maxon and slid an arm around his waist. He turned, surprised to see her, and she handed him the cup. He accepted it gratefully and returned his attention to Stavros and Gavril.

"It's a bad idea to try to hide this, Stavros." Gavril was warning.

America frowned. Try to hide what?

"There is no need to alarm the citizens, I don't see this as a continuing threat." Stavros replied. "This is an isolated incident, and will remain so, unless someone does something foolish and gives in to their demands."

Demands? So this was a hostage situation.

Gavril parried, "If they have access to a camera, and they got the transmission to us, then they have the capacity to get it to other people. We need to get out ahead of this, announce it, and reassure the people in as commanding and soothing a manner as possible that they are safe."

"Are they safe?" America asked.

Both men turned to look at her, surprised to hear her voice. That's when the others in the room noticed her, too. None of them had been sitting, so no one jumped to their feet, but the whole room around her and Maxon seemed to grow taller as all of the men in the room around them shrank into a bow.

"Your Majesty, please, take a seat." Gavril insisted, pulling over an enormous, comfortable-looking leather office chair. America agreed, because she knew Maxon would like to see her off her feet, for the sake of the baby.

"Thank you, Gavril. Are the people safe?"

"That depends on who you ask, your Majesty." Gavril replied, looking over at Stavros pointedly.

"Gentlemen, take a break while I bring the Queen up to speed." Maxon announced. Even his King voice sounded tired right now. The lower-level advisers left, and Gavril, Aspen, August and Stavros congregated at the back of the room to continue discussing in hushed tones.

"What's going on?" America asked, as Maxon sat in the chair next to her and spun it to face her. Their knees were touching, and America rested a hand on his knee gently.

"They've got hostages, we're not sure where. And they want money."

"To buy more weapons and equipment?" America asked. "No way. What are they doing with these hostages?"

"Killing them." Maxon said, gravely. "One by one."

"They won't do it." America shook her head, confidently. "They want the people to like them."

"They're already doing it, America. They've already started." Maxon sighed. "The video we got… it wasn't a list of demands. It was an execution. They killed one of their hostages and _then_ sent over demands by courier. Along with a list of grievances against the monarchy a mile long. Representation in government, heavy taxation while basic infrastructure remains broken down, the neglect of the southern provinces as they slowly suffocate in factory fumes—"

"But we're fixing all of that!"

"Which is why they have to act now. While they still have grievances to rally people around." Maxon said, shaking his head.

"No one will rally to a bunch of bullies who go around killing random people when they don't get their way." America scoffed.

"People will blame _us_ for not saving them." Maxon looked like a mere ghost of himself. He was her shadow-husband. "Our popularity… will plummet."

No. No, that was not going to happen. These rebels were not going to derail the amendment and they were not going to kill her citizens. None of that was going to happen. "Gavril's right." America said, loudly, turning to the men at the back of the room who all froze and looked over at her. "We need to get out in front of this. We tell the people what happened, make it clear that this is an attack on Illéa and we will not stand for it."

"And then what, your Majesty?" Stavros asked, coming back over and sitting at the table. Aspen, August, and Gavril followed. Gavril did not take his seat, however, until pouring a glass of water and offering it to America. America gave him a thankful look and thought he understood it, as she accepted the glass from him. He sat down to America's left. "What do we do after we tell them?"

"We free the hostages, Stavros." America said.

Maxon shook his head, "This isn't like New Asia." he lamented. "We can't rain bombs down from the sky on them. We can't risk our citizens lives and the destruction of our own property."

"Aren't there other methods?" America asked. "You people don't have spies anymore?"

August replied, "We have spies in the ranks, but there's a lot of misinformation right now. The upper ranks of rebels are purposefully misleading the lower ranks, with the expectation that we have spies in there who will come to us with all kinds of garbled information. They're trying to trick us. We don't know where these hostages are, or if they're all in the same place. They could be scattered in basements across Illéa and we don't have time to go door-to-door and search every basement."

"If we go to the people without a plan," Stavros warned, "We will look weak, and discord and fear will blanket this nation."

"And if they don't find out about it from us? If they find out about it from somewhere else, and then we respond, it will look like we had no idea until some magazine ran it or some television frequency was hacked. We'll look as unprepared as the people will feel." America argued.

"Quite right, your Majesty." Gavril nodded. "Exactly my point. We cannot afford that kind of loss right now."

"But we don't have a plan." Maxon interjected.

America wanted to snap back that they should get a plan, then, but one look at her husband, and her sarcasm died in her mouth. He was scared.

Aspen spoke next, "I've got a team analyzing the footage for clues. Local troops are talking to the families of these hostages and investigating where they were last seen. We have to find the hostages before we can rescue them. Mostly, what we need right now is time. And we don't know if we have it. There's no timeline, no 'we'll kill one citizen every twenty four hours'. They'll kill citizens as they see fit."

"Until we stop them." America reminded him.

"What we need is better intel." August said, without any hope of getting better intel.

America pondered this, then an idea struck her. Brilliance she had not known she'd possessed. A distant echo of a lesson she'd had with Silvia shortly after becoming Queen. "Maxon? What about Eoan?"

"…What about the King of England?" Maxon asked.

"His Majesty's Secret Service is the best espionage agency in the world. Eoan and Waverly would lend us some reinforcements while we tackle this rebel problem, wouldn't they?"

"Perhaps…" Maxon considered it, surprised that he actually liked the idea.

"They could come over and work with Aspen and August to outsmart and out maneuver these rebels… since we can't simply carpet bomb them."

Aspen's face lit up at the idea, "We could learn a lot from them, sir."

August appeared to fully agree.

"I'll telephone in the morning." Maxon nodded.

"In the meantime," Stavros said, "A compromise. We hold off on announcing anything for 24 hours. This time tomorrow, we reevaluate our media strategy."

America looked at Gavril. It was a risk. "Twelve hours." Gavril negotiated. "If the people hear about this from anyone other than us—"

"Twelve." Stavros nodded, his face looking gray. He was worn down, and part of him seemed to agree with Gavril. "In the meantime, we should sleep. We won't know anything for a few hours anyway, until the analysts are done looking over the recording."

Maxon nodded. "Yes. We'll all be more useful after we've had some sleep. Let's adjourn this meeting."

"And gentlemen?" America said, and the shuffle of chairs that came with being dismissed ceased. "Don't come to the King until you have hard data and advice on how to proceed. He has about a thousand other pressing issues to attend to tomorrow."

She heard a satisfying chorus of 'Yes, your Majesty's and hoped she'd bought Maxon at least a few more hours of sleep.

America turned to Gavril, as the others around them stood and Maxon went to speak with Aspen and August. "The Mayor's party tomorrow night. Maxon and I can't be seen at a party at a time like this." America said.

"We'll assess the risk, you're right. We don't want to send you to a party only to have the news of these hostages break while you and Maxon are sipping cocktails with a gaggle of Twos. But if that seems unlikely, you must go, your Majesty. You cannot allow these rebels to hurt your chances of achieving this amendment. You need to drop this hint about your pregnancy. It's crucial to the plan."

"Ames?" Maxon asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

"Yes." America stood. "Thank you, Gavril. We should talk tomorrow."

"We will." Gavril nodded, and stood, himself. He bowed to America, then to Maxon, and he followed Stavros and August out the door.

Aspen remained behind. America saw the question on his face before it could make it to his lips. "She's in my room from the Selection." America said, patting Aspen's shoulder and then kissing his cheek. "Fast asleep."

"Good." Aspen looked relieved. Then he seemed to remember something, "You should get some sleep, too, Mer."

America smiled up at him, endeared by his concern. "Who are you, my doctor?"

"No," he shook his head, "But the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and Aspen endlessly loves America."

Those were possibly the most soothing words he could have said. Especially on a night like this, after a meeting like that. "I know." America smiled, weakly. "I love you, too. Goodnight, Aspen."

"Night, Mer. Goodnight, Maxon."

Maxon nodded, still frowning deeply, and then Aspen left the room.

"_Aspen__ endlessly__ loves America_," Maxon mocked, in a grumble. "_I_ endlessly love you, too, America."

America actually threw her head back and laughed. "Are you seriously jealous of him right now? Did you see how pregnant his beautiful wife is?" America looped her arm through his and they turned down the hallway. The others were already out of sight.

"_My_ beautiful wife is pregnant, too." Maxon grumbled. "With _my_ baby!"

"That's right, Maxon." America giggled.

"_Maxon_ endlessly loves America. _Maxon_ endlessly loves America." Maxon muttered under his breath, over and over until America finally turned to him, pinned him to the wall, and kissed him fiercely before saying, "I know you do. That's why America chose Maxon."

When she pulled away, he just smiled over at her, placidly. "Thanks for the reminder."

She smiled back and took his hand. "Come on. You need some sleep, your Majesty."

"I beg your pardon, but _everyone_ calls me 'your Majesty'." Maxon teased, as they continued their walk up to the third floor. "_I _am not _your_ Majesty."

America laughed at Maxon's riff of her least favorite nickname, "That's not how 'my dear' works, Maxon. You are, in point of fact, my King and Majesty. Whereas _I_ am not—"

"You _are_ my dear. You are my _dearest_." Maxon said, firmly. "You've always been my dear, even on the night we met. You just didn't know it yet." he was so in earnest that America didn't know how to respond. At least, not until he joked, "And Maxon endlessly dears America."

America shook her head, trying to choke back her laughter and failing. "We need to get you to bed, Maxon, you are beginning to lose your mind."


	20. Chapter 20

The news of the rebels taking civilian hostages did not break over the course of the next week. Twice a day, Stavros, Gavril, Maxon, and America were checking in to decide how to proceed. So far, the only consensus they could arrive at was to do nothing. Just wait and see what Aspen, August, and the English task force sent over by King Eoan would turn up.

On Monday night, as scheduled, America and Maxon attended the Mayor of Angeles' party for all of thirty minutes before America dramatically closed her eyes and pretended to go weak in the knees as Maxon held her up and cameras clicked furiously all around them. When one of the Mayor's assistants offered her a glass of wine to help steady her, America refused to the sound of even more clicks. After a pre-party meeting with Silvia and Gavril, it was concluded that Maxon would be allowed to place a hand on the small of America's back and guide her out of the party, because this show of affection would read as 'protective', particularly given how little physical contact Maxon and America were permitted to show in public.

Sure enough, by Tuesday morning, the rumors were not so much swirling as thunderously hurricaning. Was the Queen fatally ill? Maybe the party was just scandalously boring? Or could it be… a royal baby? The bump-watch was on.

Not that there was anything approaching a bump on America's stomach, much to Maxon's chagrin. Sometimes he'd walk into her bedroom while Mary and Paige were dressing her, come around so that he was viewing her in profile, lean down to carefully examine her bare midriff, then huff, exasperatedly, and stomp back to his own room without saying a word. Up until now, America had always believed him to be the patient one in their relationship. Now she knew better.

On Wednesday, America was supposed to meet with her Queen's council to discuss different ideas for fundraisers to benefit the prenatal clinics. Unfortunately, the baby had its own plans, and America spent most of Wednesday suffering a severe bout of morning sickness.

Maxon could not have been more sympathetic when he awoke that morning to the sound of her retching in his bathroom. He had learned that a gentle, steady back rub was much more effective at soothing her than the thumping back pat he'd tried the first time America was sick. Eventually, Maxon had to get dressed for the day, so at the first sign of a break from the vomiting, he carried America into her bathroom, surrounded her with pillows so that she'd be more comfortable on the tile floor, and then kissed her clammy forehead goodbye. He promised to check in on her throughout the day.

When Mary came in to get America ready for the day, America asked that all food be kept far away from her as the smells were more than she could stand, and she also asked for Silvia to be summoned.

Silvia appeared, looking bright, fresh, and faintly repulsed, no more than twenty minutes later. The baby was giving America a break from the retching for a few minutes, so America was perched on the edge of her bed, waiting.

"Your Majesty? Mary told me that you are unwell."

"I need to stay near a bathroom, today, Silvia." America said, apologetically. "We'll be working from my room. Could you send a notice to Lady Marlee and Lady Georgia?"

"Of course."

"And bring everything we'll need up from my office."

"Are you sure you want to work today, your Majesty? If you don't mind my saying, you look terribly unwell."

It was true, one glance in the mirror was all it took to confirm that America looked like a wreck that morning. She was sweaty and her face was splotchy, her skin was clammy and her eyes had dark rings under them that gave away how disturbed by nausea her rest had been the night before.

"I'm sure, Silvia. It's what Amberly would have done."

Silvia nodded her approval, "Absolutely, your Majesty." She curtseyed and left, headed back to America's office.

"Mary?"

Mary appeared from where she had been cleaning America's bathroom. "Yes, your Majesty?"

"Makeup. And clothes, something _extremely_ comfortable."

It was hard to get much done in the meeting, which felt like more of a pajama party. Marlee and Georgia sat cross-legged on America's bed and Mary and Silvia sat in America's armchairs. America kept having to dry heave every twenty minutes or so, though the bag of mints and box of saltine crackers Mary brought up from the kitchens did a lot to help space out the vomiting.

When Maxon made it to her room to check on her during lunch, he brought interesting news that he shared with all of them. "I had a call from Elise today."

"About her ceremony?" America asked. Mary had pulled one of Maxon's arm chairs into America's room, and that's where America sat, slouched, with a cold washcloth pressed to her forehead.

"What ceremony?" Marlee asked, curiously.

"Elise is taking the oath to formally become one of Maxon's advisers..." America couldn't remember when.

"Next Thursday." Maxon reminded her, gently, looking her over with concerned brown eyes. This might have been the sickest he'd ever seen her. "But, no, that's not why she called. She and her husband want to meet with us about possibly licensing a publication for Rolph."

"If I know Rolph, what he really wants is for us to remove the royal license requirement." America said, and Maxon nodded.

"However, I was thinking of what Elise mentioned to us on her last visit, in the safe room, about how Rolph could be potentially useful to us."

"Well, he is a supporter. We could use all of those that we can get right now." America agreed.

"I was thinking we could squeeze them in on Saturday, along with Gavril, and of course, Silvia." Maxon nodded deferentially to Silvia.

"It would be an honor, your Majesty." Silvia assured him.

America took a breath, feeling a fresh wave of nausea roiling in the pit of her stomach. "Why?" she managed to say.

"Just to explore the option of giving him a license. Seeing what he wants to do with it. It could be that he's just the man we need to spread our message to the lower castes."

America dragged the wash cloth over her face, but it didn't make her feel much better. "He won't want to spread our message anywhere. He'll want to spread an independent message."

"I know." Maxon nodded. "But would you be open to meeting with him? For me? And Elise?"

"Of course." America said, then she stood, "Excuse me." and she walked swiftly into the bathroom to begin dry heaving again.

At this, Maxon had to intervene and dismiss the council meeting, insisting that America take the day off and get some rest. Mary left to eat lunch, but stayed with America for the rest of the afternoon to keep her company. America slept as much as the nausea would let her.

That evening, when Maxon returned and America still wasn't feeling any better, he summoned Dr. Ashlar, who arrived just as America started vomiting yet again. The doctor listened to Maxon's concerns, that America couldn't rest, hadn't eaten all day, couldn't keep her vitamins down, and that if this kept up, the baby might be put in danger.

In typical Palace fashion, Dr. Ashlar provided America with a bottle of pills to help with the problem. America was reluctant to take them, because she was unfamiliar with, uncomfortable with, and mistrustful of medication, having grown up as a Five. However, not even America could deny that, once she'd taken two of the pills, she did not throw up for the rest of the night and was finally able to sleep soundly. Maxon was able to sleep soundly, too, because he wasn't up all night worrying about her. That more than motivated America to keep taking the pills, no matter her prior-caste prejudices.

By Saturday, America was feeling much better. During her usual Friday checkup, she got a clean bill of health and, according to Dr. Ashlar, gained almost a quarter of a pound that week, which was very good growth for having just completed her sixth week of pregnancy. That night, as she and Maxon sat out on the balcony and discussed the week to come, the rebel threat, and their latest polling numbers, Maxon asked her if she still wanted to meet with Elise and Rolph to discuss licensing him to cover the royal family.

"We'll meet with him." America had agreed. "But I don't think he wants to 'cover the royal family' the way that Gavril does. I think he wants to publicize information that we tend to keep classified. He's after political intrigue, not family gossip."

"I can always revoke a press license." Maxon had argued.

"At what cost? Suppose the people were on his side? They wouldn't like for you to revoke his license. And it wouldn't erase the knowledge of the things he could tell them."

"When did you get so paranoid, my love?"

"When rebels started beheading my subjects in an attempt to overthrow our monarchy and take a wrecking ball to all of the progress and improvements we've made to life in Illéa."

The truth was, America was seeing demons around just about every corner, these days, and with good reason. Aspen, August, and the English task force still hadn't managed to discover the whereabouts of the hostages, so they couldn't even begin to plan a rescue mission. It was hard to say how much time they had left, or why the rebels hadn't gone public and told all of Illéa what they were doing. Stavros figured that they wanted to kill more hostages so that Maxon would look completely incompetent and weak when they finally did announce their threats. It was not the most settling nighttime conversation to be having, at any rate.

The next morning, Maxon and America were coming out of a security update on the hostage situation when Elise and Rolph arrived for tea. They all sat in Maxon's office and Esther served them expertly, although a bit nervously. It was clear that Mary had already begun working with the girl.

"Thank you, Esther." America said, to dismiss her, and once the door to Maxon's office was closed, their informal meeting began.

"I apologize if America and I are a little slow today. We've just come out of the most taxing meeting." Maxon said, rubbing his eyes with one hand and using the other to take a long drink of coffee.

"We really are glad you're here." America smiled at Elise, who nodded back, sympathetically.

"I'm sure I'll read all about it in my introductory briefing packet once I'm sworn in." Elise said. The morning after Elise pledged her oath to Maxon at the ceremony, she'd be given a thick packet containing classified updates on every aspect of the country.

"Yes, you will." Maxon assured her. "Enjoy your final days of freedom, Elise." he wasn't really joking about that.

"So, Rolph," America said, sipping her tea. "Elise mentioned that you wanted to talk to us about possibly licensing you to provide press coverage for the Palace?"

Rolph, who was a quiet, smoldering type, who always seemed to be thinking the most extraordinary thoughts and always seemed to have the hint of a smile on his lips as he watched others thinking their thoughts, leant forward in his enthusiasm. "Well, your Majesty, I intend to cover a whole range of topics, but chief among them would be the Palace, you are correct. You see, I've acquired a printing machine."

America and Maxon's eyes met, and they read each other's minds perfectly. Maxon spoke for them, "How is that possible? Our presses in Illéa are issued by the Palace."

"It's not the same kind of printing machine that produces those glossy magazines we use as news sources." Rolph explained, and one of his knees began bouncing in his zeal. "It's more like the kind of printing used to make books."

"Books." Maxon frowned. Books were not widely printed in Illéa, other than a select few used to teach children. The variety wasn't large, and there was no store to go to and purchase more copies.

Elise placed a hand gently on Rolph's knee to stay its bouncing, then explained, "Rolph has family in the German Federation, and they inherited a printing machine. They requested permission from the Chancellor's office to send it overseas, to Rolph. The Chancellor is very pleased with Illéa right now, something about a favorable prorated tariff that Maxon allowed them to renegotiate…" America shared a small smile with Maxon, pleased that he and his economics team were able to change the trade agreement to help the struggling Germans. "Anyway, it was easy to get the blessing of the German Federation." Elise concluded. "So now… we have a printing machine."

"I'd like to use it to make low-cost newspapers." Rolph announced, as if his statement was the most obvious thing in the world, rather than completely obscure.

"News papers?" America asked, confused. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"It's an old practice, some of our allies still use them. England, the German Federation, as well as Italy, I believe."

"But _what_ is it?" America asked.

"It's a way of disseminating printed news, your Majesty." Rolph explained.

"Oh." America had a vague recollection, "Printed news papers… my father mentioned them to me, once."

"That's right. Illéa never had them, as such, but the American State of China, and the United States of America both had them, for a time."

"And they're like books?" America asked.

"Like magazines, but without the glossy photographs. If there are photographs in a newspaper, they serve to help illustrate an article. They aren't there for entertainment."

"So it has articles, like magazines?" America asked, struggling to imagine what Rolph was describing, having never seen one in real life.

"It does, your Majesty. I would cover international news, I'd have a section for local province news, and of course, news from the Palace."

"How often?" America asked.

"I'd start off every week, and then as business picked up, move to a fresh printing every day."

America turned to Maxon, "Have you seen news papers abroad?"

"In passing. I think I understand the theory of them at any rate." Maxon nodded.

"My goal would be to keep the cost of each newspaper as low as possible, so as to ensure access to as many people as possible. I know that the price of magazines can be prohibitive, and as such, a large swath of the Illéan population remains ignorant about the goings on in the world, both in Illéa and overseas. I'd like to help fix that, but _as the laws stand now_, I require a royal license."

Maxon smiled into his coffee mug, "I'm afraid the Queen and I are enacting all of the changes to laws that we can handle, right now." America glanced at him, smiling, too. "However, we can certainly discuss issuing a license to you."

There was a loud, firm knock from the doors that separated Maxon's and America's offices. "Come in." Maxon called, looking over, curiously.

Gavril and Silvia entered the room together, from America's office. Gavril bowed, first to Maxon, then to America, and Silvia sank into a deep curtsey.

"Gavril, Silvia." Maxon greeted them, and they straightened up. "Thank you for coming in on a Saturday. You'll both remember Lady Elise, of course?"

"Of course." Gavril smiled, taking Elise's hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles while Silvia said, "Hello again, Lady Elise."

Maxon continued, "And this is Lady Elise's husband, Rolph Lemex. I don't believe you've met before, have you?"

"No, we haven't." Gavril said, shaking Rolph's hand, while Silvia greeted, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lemex."

Gavril pulled up an arm chair and offered it to Silvia, then pulled up one next to her for himself, as America explained, "Rolph was just telling us that he has a printing machine and would like a license to produce news papers."

"Newspapers? Really?" Silvia asked, surprised. She knew of newspapers mostly in an historical context. Gavril, who knew everything about media, and so, of course, knew about newspapers was also surprised.

"I can't see any reason why we shouldn't grant you this license, Rolph." Maxon said, thoughtfully. "That being said, we could certainly use your help right now."

"Ah." Rolph said, a little deflated. "I was afraid of this. Your Majesty, I insist that I operate independently, I refuse to become a mouthpiece for the Palace. I won't be printing your propaganda in my newspapers, no matter how much I like you."

Maxon had an half-smile on his face at this odd semi-compliment. "I understand. That's not really what I'm talking about. You see, America and I are undergoing a massive effort to raise our approval ratings so that we can safely enact some new legislation, legislation we believe you will very much approve of."

"We haven't discussed how we're going to announce this legislation yet." America said, glancing between Gavril and Maxon, "But when we do, we could guarantee your paper exclusive access."

"Your Majesty," Gavril objected, "You must also consider announcing on the _Report_. Your citizens all have access to the _Report_, not all of them will be able to access Mr. Lemex's papers by the time we go to announce this legislation. It's important that our message reach all of their ears, and that it be _our _message. Not Mr. Lemex's version of our message."

"We could announce on the _Report_." Maxon agreed, "And then do an exclusive, in-depth interview with you, Mr. Lemex. That would sell some papers, wouldn't it?"

"Yes… it would." Rolph seemed hesitant.

"Gavril?" America asked.

Gavril had a deeply mistrustful look on his face. "I suppose that _could_ work."

"What would you want in exchange?" Rolph asked, warily.

"We want our message to reach as many people as possible. In printed news, it is easier to go into details that we could not go into in broadcast news." Maxon explained. "We've got this legislation we want to enact, and leading up to it we're hoping to educate and sway some public opinion, not just on America and myself, but on the issues surrounding our legislation."

"What is this legislation?" Rolph asked.

"We can't tell you." America said. "Not right now, anyway. You'll be brought into the loop in bits and pieces. Elise already has an idea about what we're up to, she and I had a discussion the last time she was at the Palace."

"Oh." Elise realized, her mouth in a circle and her eyes wide. "You're going forward with that?"

"Absolutely." America nodded. "Of course, you cannot share information you learn in your capacity as adviser with Rolph, and it becomes especially dangerous if you accidentally share that information and Rolph decides to print it."

"That would be treason." Maxon agreed. "And I'm not sure that I would be in a position, after such a public infraction, to pardon you and spare you the punishment. You understand the risks, don't you?"

"Of course." Rolph insisted.

"Now then, as for being our 'mouthpiece'," Maxon smiled, "That's not what we want. You may print anything you see fit to print, including criticism of this monarchy. I ask that you refrain from printing criticism of my family on a personal level, but I doubt you would do such a thing, as you and Elise are our friends."

"Rolph would never do that." Elise said, simply, and America believed her. As if Elise would marry someone disrespectful enough to print personal criticism and call it 'news'.

"I could criticize the monarchy? And I wouldn't be sent to prison?" Rolph clarified.

"Criticism is healthy." Maxon said. "I wouldn't send you to prison for calling us out and holding us accountable for our actions. We hope that this criticism would be constructive and never fail to mention the progress we're making in whichever field you're criticizing us on. But it's your paper, it's up to you."

"We will give you all of the access we can spare." America said. "And in exchange, we want you to tell everyone what we're doing. Spread the word."

"…Yes, that _is_ the job of a newspaper." Rolph reflected. "Really? That's it? As long as I'm talking about what you're doing, I am free to print what I please? Even if it's criticizing you?"

"Yes." Maxon said, hesitantly.

"Sir," Gavril interrupted, "I must advise you to move foreword with caution. Mr. Lemex won't be an adviser, he won't always have the perspective to understand what he's seeing. He could do real damage to your reputation, and to the reputation of Queen America."

Rolph frowned and said in an insulted voice, "I'm not an irresponsible journalist, Mr. Fadaye, I assure. But unlike you,_ I _won't be on the monarchy's payroll."

America stayed Gavril's annoyed response by simply lifting her hand in the air. "Gavril is just being protective of us, Rolph. He's watched Maxon grow up, he was there as Maxon and I met, fell in love, and were married. He's not just our adviser, he's one of the family. He loves us, and he's worried about the ways in which you could possibly hurt us." Then America turned to Gavril and said, "But it's a risk we have to take, Gavril. We have to try new things and hope that they work, that's the only way we're going to get our approval ratings high enough. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course I do, your Majesty." Gavril nodded, warmed by America's kind words.

"And I'd rather bet on the man Elise Whisks found worthy than on a complete stranger." Maxon smiled at Elise.

Rolph almost couldn't believe it. Perhaps he'd been expecting more demands. "So all I have to do is report on what you and the Queen are doing, and I get my license?"

"Yes." Maxon nodded. "You will have to work with us, Rolph, but we'll never tell you what to write or censor what you say."

"That's very generous, your Majesty." Rolph said.

"You should start with Elise's ceremony next week. You won't have the paper up and running by then, but you could write the article and print it in your first issue." Maxon suggested.

"And Maxon will be announcing a major initiative to do with his Southern Cleanup efforts in the coming weeks." America said. "We could certainly credential you to cover that announcement."

Maxon smiled over at America and took her hand, "We'll have _several_ exciting announcements in the months ahead, and we'll invite you over for interviews about as often as we can. Provided that you get those interviews into the hands of as many people as possible."

"I can do that." Rolph assured them.

"Very good, then." Maxon smiled. "Gavril will start the paperwork, we'll have your license by the end of the afternoon, if you and Elise want to stick around."

"Your Majesty?" Silvia said to America, "We have a meeting with the chef."

"Oh, that's right." America sighed, and stood, and the whole room got to their feet. No matter how long she was Queen, sometimes that still caught her off-guard. "We're setting the menu for your celebration, Elise." America smiled. "You like salmon, don't you?"

"Very much, your Majesty." Elise smiled.

"I thought I remembered that." America leant up and kissed Maxon on the cheek. "I'll see you at dinner."

"See you then." He nodded, "Oh, and Silvia? Don't let her forget to eat lunch."

"Chef always has samples for me to try when I'm in the kitchens approving menus." America promised him.

"Right, but you can't sample this one." Maxon said, simply.

America blinked. "What do you mean?"

Maxon's eyes darted over to Rolph and Elise. "I mean…"

"I'll take care of it, your Majesty." Silvia promised, giving Maxon a knowing nod.

"Thank you, Silvia."

They said their goodbyes to Elise, Rolph, and Gavril, then Silvia followed America out into the hall. "What was that about?" America asked.

"Fish, your Majesty. You cannot eat fish right now."

"Why not?"

"High levels of mercury, your Majesty, it's not good for…" she took a look around, but they were out of earshot of the nearest guard. "It's not good for the baby." she said in a hushed whisper.

America sighed, heavily. "Right. Then you're tasting the salmon today and if the chef asks why…"

"He won't ask why, your Majesty, he won't question his Queen." Silvia said, disdainfully.

"He might not ask, but he'll wonder why. I should have a believable reason."

"You'd rather taste the vegetarian option?" Silvia suggested.

"And the desserts." America grinned. They walked in silence for a moment. "Did Gavril say anything to you about… this decision, to license Rolph Lemex?" she asked. Usually, if Gavril had concerns like the ones he'd mentioned today, he would have addressed them with Maxon and America long before an official meeting.

Silvia considered her answer carefully. "He's worried, your Majesty. It's risky. He has your family's best interests at heart, and he's worried about granting someone access to you who doesn't have your best interests at heart. Personally, I think Gavril underestimates himself."

"You do?" America asked, peeking over at Silvia and trying to decode the look on the older woman's face.

"Gavril didn't get to be where he is today by mistake. He's the best of the best, and I thoroughly believe that, if it came down to it, he could use his prowess to eliminate Mr. Lemex as a threat."

"I didn't know you thought so highly of Gavril." America smirked. "I can't say that I disagree."

Unless America's eyes were very much mistaken, Silvia blushed faintly as she squared her shoulders and continued down to the basement in silence.


	21. Chapter 21

America could have slept for a week after Elise's oath ceremony. She was followed, not so subtly, by every camera in the room all evening as the various photographers tried to spot a baby bump and confirm the rumors of a royal baby once and for all. Mary and Paige, with a little bit of detail stitching by Esther, made a looser-fitting gown for the occasion, so the photographers never quite got a clear shot of America's middle. This did nothing but fuel the baby rumors, along with the fact that America didn't eat the fish, didn't drink the champagne, and left an hour before the party finished, claiming a headache. The next morning, there were pictures of her, with captions suggesting a royal pregnancy, in every magazine in Illéa, and America and Maxon were awoken in the very early hours of the morning by a knock at Maxon's bedroom door. The guard on duty in the hallway popped in.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but there's a call waiting for you."

Maxon yawned and mumbled, "I'll be right there."

"Oh. I'm sorry, your Majesty… there's a call waiting for _her _Majesty. From Italy."

"Oh, no!" America sat bolt upright and rubbed a hand over her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. "I never told Nicoletta."

Maxon chuckled and pulled the covers up to his chin. "She's going to murder you."

"I'm thinking of self-immolating now, to spare myself the grisly assassination." America grumbled, and Maxon laughed as she tossed the duvet off of her legs and her feet made contact with the thickly carpeted floor.

The Princess of Italy kept the Queen of Illéa on the phone, in a virtually unbroken rant of beratement, for over an hour. Sometimes the words were english, sometimes italian, but always with a tone of disappointment, disapproval, or even downright anger. Finally, America had to interrupt.

"Nicoletta, I'm _so _sorry, I know I promised I would tell you when I had something to tell, and then I just kept forgetting, but I _am _pregnant, and as such, I really, _really _need to get to breakfast so that I can feed the future King or Queen of Illéa before starting my day."

There was dead silence on the line for about fifteen seconds. America thought, for a moment, that they'd been disconnected, but then Nicoletta said, in a commanding tone, "I am the godmother."

America blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I am the godmother." Nicoletta repeated, with absolute certainty that what she was saying was already true, and not in anyway a request or suggestion.

America shook her head and smiled a little, "I don't know, Nic, Maxon and I haven't—"

"I am the godmother."

America laughed, "But my sisters, and Marlee—"

"Talk it over with Maxon. I think he'll see it my way. If the future King or Queen of Illéa has an Italian monarch for godmother, it could do wonderful things for our firm but young friendship as nations."

America rolled her eyes, "Nic, you can't threaten the alliance just to jockey yourself into prime 'godmother' position."

"Watch me. Now, go and eat your breakfast. Feed my godchild."

America sighed, exasperated and amused in equal measure. "Have a good afternoon, Nic."

"And you have a good morning." The line went dead.

When America told Maxon about Nicoletta's demand over breakfast, Maxon gave an unattractive, and decidedly un-Kingly snort of amusement right into his poached eggs. He told her that he'd talk it over with his advisers, specifically Elise to gauge how New Asia would respond to Illéa honoring Italy and not them.

Elise, who was extremely busy settling into her first days as an adviser and reading through all of the briefing materials to get caught up, was unable to do better than a quick memo to the King and Queen the following Monday that said, in effect, that the New Asians had much better things to do with their time than worry about who was going to be godmother to a baby born on the other side of the world. And anyway, America's friendship with Nicoletta was well-documented, and making Princess Nic the baby's godmother wouldn't be perceived as anything more than an act of friendship between two women, not two countries. And also, congratulations on the baby!

Nicoletta was much ameliorated when she received the message from America that,_ fine_, she could be the godmother, then.

* * *

On Wednesday night, there was going to be a very special edition of the _Ill__é__a_ _Capital Report, _in which, after the delay suggested by Jepsen at the war council meeting, Maxon _finally _launched his official Southern Cleanup Initiative. It came complete with a ten year plan to purify the air, water, and soil in the southern provinces, as well as scheduled shipments of clean food and water until the southern sources of food and water passed a certain threshold to be considered safe to consume. There would also be doctors volunteering time and resources to help care for those suffering worst from the current climate in the south.

This initiative was something Maxon and his mother used to talk about when Clarkson wasn't around. Maxon could remember being ten or eleven when he first realized, from a lesson he'd received from one of his tutors, that his mother's ill-health was connected to her upbringing in Honduragua. He'd gone to her immediately and spoken with her about it at-length, and when he'd asked, with wide, imploring eyes, if there was anything he could do to help, Amberly had replied that, someday, when he was King, there would be no limit to what he could do to help.

America, who knew all about Maxon's deep connection to this initiative, and was feeling particularly hormonal that day, broke down into loud, wailing sobs as she listened to her husband practice his announcement in front of the mirror in his bathroom. Maxon poked his head out of the bathroom, confused and concerned.

"Ames?"

"She would be _so _proud of you." America groaned into Maxon's pillow, clutching it to her body for dear life.

Maxon chuckled a little, sat his speech down, and joined her, gently, on the edge of his bed. "What did you say? I couldn't understand you."

America hiccoughed and lifted her eyes to his, "Shewouldbesoproudofyou." America managed, quickly, before another sob wracked her body and she buried her head back in his pillow.

Maxon gently patted her back and told her everything was going to be fine, in his most soothing voice, over and over, until the sobbing quieted and all that remained was a devastating ache in her chest.

America peeked one eye up at him and said, hopelessly, "I want her back, Maxon."

Maxon nodded, a deep and unspeakable sadness reflected in his eyes. "I know. Me, too, my love."

"This initiative would have meant the world to her, Maxon. She would be _so_ proud of you. It kills me that she'll never see this."

Maxon frowned and nodded, then pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Aunt Adele is going to see it, though. Do you know what she said when I told her I was finally announcing it? She said it was yet another remarkable and lasting effect my mother had on this country. And she's right." America nodded her agreement sadly, and Maxon sighed and pulled her into his lap. "This is a good thing, America."

"I know."

"We need to be happy about the good things, because we've got plenty of bad things to make us sad."

"You're right."

"But do you know what I love?"

"What?"

"I love that you love her _so_ much. I _love _that, America."

"How can I help it?" America sniffled, peering into Maxon's warm, brown eyes. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to this country."

"You know," Maxon smiled, touching the tip of his nose to the tip of hers, "Some people would argue that that's _you_."

America shook her head a little and said, "But without her, I wouldn't be here. You got all the best parts of her, Maxon. And because of that, you were spared the worst parts of your father. Your compassion and your sense of 'right', your ability to love with your whole being, with no restraint, and not just your country, but me. You got all of that from her. If your father had chosen another woman in his Selection, you wouldn't exist, the person with your job wouldn't have half of your goodness, and I wouldn't be here at all. I'd be in Carolina with Aspen, God knows what would have happened to Lucy, and neither of our babies would ever exist. Amberly started it all. Every good thing you or I accomplish in our time in this Palace will have its roots with her. I just wish she knew it."

Maxon had no idea what to say to this. He was overwhelmed by this view of things, and overwhelmed by his wife's gratitude for his mother. He flopped back on the bed with a heavy sigh, and then America curled up laying across his body so that her nose came to rest against his left cheek, but his right arm had easy access to the outside of her thigh, which he began to stroke, softly and absentmindedly.

After a minute or two of silence, Maxon said, "I love you, America."

"I love you, too."

"If you'd ever said something like _that _to me during the Selection, I'd have put that ring on your finger so fast it would have made your head spin." Maxon said.

"We all admired her, Maxon."

"That was much more than admiration, Ames." Maxon said, seriously. America didn't know what to say, so she gently placed her hand on Maxon's right cheek and traced his cheekbone with her thumb while they both tried to figure out what to do next.

Maxon turned his head incrementally, so that he could see her better, but she did not stop stroking his face. He considered her for a moment and then said, "Adele was planning to bring Mother's letters when she and my cousins come in for the official, televised baby announcement at the end of June. But I can get them couriered over by the end of the day, if you need them now."

"No." America blinked, and her lashes tickled his cheek. "I can wait." She promised in the tone a child employs when they promise that they can be good.

"Wear her crown tonight." Maxon offered.

"No, Maxon, it's fine—"

"You should wear it. She'd like that. Then her influence on this initiative would have a visible presence in the announcement."

America sighed, her breath tickling Maxon's face. "Okay." she agreed, but there was apprehension in her voice. The last person to wear Amberly's crown had been Amberly.

"I'll write a note so that Mary can get it from the vault. You should warn her now, though, because the crown will need to be polished by the jeweler before tonight, and that will take a bit of extra time." America responded by placing a string of kisses along his jawline. "America?" Maxon asked, confused about how quickly this mood swing had come on. Not five minutes ago, she'd been crying inconsolably, and just a few seconds ago they'd been talking about her mother-in-law, not the most romantic topic in history. Her response was to move to his earlobe and give that plenty of attention. "America? I should r-rehearse." he tried again, his voice higher in pitch as her hands untucked his starched white shirt and found their way to his bare chest.

America didn't answer him, her hormones were now leading her in a direction entirely antithetical to him ever getting back into that bathroom to finish practicing his speech.

* * *

Ten minutes before the _Report_ was supposed to go live, Maxon and America stood on the set having a last minute rundown with Gavril as he talked them through the order of the broadcast. Maxon had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead that had nothing to do with the bright stage lights. He was incredibly nervous, and he absentmindedly placed his hand in his right front pants pocket in a familiar gesture, feeling for something. Then he turned to America, wide-eyed and said, "I forgot it!"

America and Gavril met each other's eyes uncertainly for a moment, then America said, "You forgot what, Maxon?"

"The ultrasound image. It's not in my pocket. I left it in my other pants. I need it, it's my lucky charm!" It was true, Maxon had been keeping that image with him every moment of every day, and he _had _been referring to it as his 'lucky charm', but America hadn't realized that he had an actual superstition about it.

America looked to Gavril, "Who can run and fetch the image from the King's other pair of pants?" Her lips twitched upward at the phrase but she stopped herself from outright smiling because Maxon was in such an adorable panic.

"I can spare Silvia for the few minutes it would take." Gavril concluded, rushing off to the back of the room to inform Silvia of her new responsibility. If this was happening at the end of June, anyone standing around would be able to run and get the ultrasound image, but since the baby was still only a rumor to most of the people in the Palace, the only ones who could fetch the image were the ones who already knew about the baby and were in the studio for the _Report _broadcast, and that left their choices rather limited.

Maxon paced a few feet back and forth in front of America a few times until she placed her hands on his shoulders to stay him. "Silvia's bringing it."

"I know."

"She'd rather die than fail us, you know that." America smiled.

"I just can't believe I forgot it." he looked wracked with guilt.

America smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know, before this baby, you used to say that _I _was your lucky charm."

Maxon finally smiled down at her. "Of course you are. Kiss for luck?"

America scrunched up her nose happily and Maxon grinned, then she went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, giving him a lingering kiss.

They were interrupted by a chorus of 'Aww's. The studio audience was eating up this little show of behind-the-scenes affection. America and Maxon each took a sharp step backward as they remembered that there were other people in the world, and each wiped their lips a little, blushing. Maxon still had some of America's red lipstick on his lips, which she brushed away for him before straightening his crown. He wasn't nervous anymore, that kiss seemed to have grounded him. He was ready for that speech, ultrasound image or no, but luckily for him, Silvia power-walked to the front of the studio just as they were being put into places for the opening shot. She held the image close to her chest, facing her so that no one could see what she had. She slipped it delicately into Maxon's hands and then curtseyed before clearing off the stage. He grinned at America, standing up to slip it into his right front pocket and mouthing 'lucky charm' to her as he tapped it, then he sat back down in his throne-like chair next to her and smiled.

Maxon was flawless on the _Report_ that night. Gavril'd had a heavy hand in selecting the audience that would be in-studio for the broadcast, so that Maxon was interrupted in his announcement no less than five times by wild, enthusiastic applause.

It was decided that, in the final few moments of the broadcast, when Maxon's speech was finished, America would be permitted to come forward and embrace him for a very quick moment. Not a long, lingering hug, that would have been wildly inappropriate. Just a quick embrace, and then she'd take a full step away and accept the arm he offered her. This was supposed to convey a surge of affection between the couple, almost as if they were tightly bonded over the secret of a royal pregnancy. America had laughed outright, as Gavril and Silvia explained that reasoning.

However, Maxon took the embrace one step farther, in his relief and joy over how well his speech had gone. When America came forward to embrace him, he left a hand lingering on her hip, and as she stepped away, he let that hand brush her lower-stomach, leaving it there for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and then finally offering her that arm. America was wearing a loose-fitting black dress with a sheer black train attached to the back at her shoulders, it was supposed to convey seriousness _and_ add logs to the baby-rumor fire. That infinitesimal touch to her belly whilst she was wearing that dress would _certainly_ have done the trick.

Once the cameras were off and the studio audience was cleared out, Gavril and Silvia came forward, Gavril with an enthusiastic smile covering his face. "Very well-done, your Majesty. What a way to launch your new initiative."

"Thank you, Gavril. That was a brilliant introduction, as usual." Maxon smiled.

"I especially enjoyed the bit of improvised physicality with the Queen, at the end." Gavril winked.

"Oh, good. For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far." Maxon grinned, relieved.

"Not at all." Gavril assured him. "It was a touch of brilliance... pardon the pun."

"I was discussing it with Gavril while the audience was clearing out." Silvia said, and even she sounded enthusiastic. "I'll bet that little touch was enough to send those baby rumors _international_. I expect to see headlines about a possible Illéan heir in all of the major international magazines by this weekend."

America tried to stifle a yawn and failed magnificently. Maxon stroked the exposed part of her upper-back and sent chills all down her spine with his touch. "Let's call it a night, shall we?" Maxon suggested. "Good work tonight, Gavril. Silvia."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Both advisers replied, with a tiny bow from Gavril and a tiny curtsey from Silvia.

America and Maxon watched them turn and walk across the enormous studio on their way to their offices, already strategizing excitedly for the next seven days.

"We need to keep an eye on those two." America said in a low voice to Maxon, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist.

"What? Silvia and Gavril?" Maxon asked, surprised.

"We'll see." America nodded, watching pointedly as Gavril swept the door open for Silvia and gave her an animated bow as she passed.

"Your mother will be heartbroken." Maxon chuckled, and America rolled her eyes and swatted playfully at his chest.

"Come on." She said, taking his hand and tugging at it. "I'm sleepy."

"I can see why you would be. Our exertions earlier left _me_ exhausted." Maxon teased in a quiet voice so that none of the crew cleaning up the studio could hear them.

America was about to scold him when the door to the studio swung wide open and Aspen came charging in. He was out of breath when he got to them, and began speaking even as he bowed. "The rebels have sent another transmission. It's... it's a bad one."

"Another hostage?" Maxon asked, in an extremely low voice. Aspen simply nodded. Maxon turned to America, "Go up to bed, I'll fill you in later." America cast him a scathing look that told him just what she thought of that suggestion. "Alright, fine." Maxon shook his head. "Damned stubborn woman..." he grumbled, but he took off in the direction of the security rooms, and Aspen and America followed quickly behind.

As they rounded the corner in the hallway, they found Gavril and Silvia standing tensely nearby, waiting. "Officer Leger told me not to go far." Gavril explained to America's questioning look, as he joined their entourage on the way upstairs. Silvia stayed behind, arms folded tight, anxiously watching them go.

When they got to Security Room A, Stavros and August were already there, along with several assistants. Everyone stood and bowed deeply as Maxon and America entered the room.

"Where are we?" Maxon asked Stavros, taking his seat at the head of the room facing a paused video displayed on a large screen. America took the seat right next to him, Gavril landed next to her, and Aspen sat at the end, looking grave.

"This transmission was received at the end of your broadcast tonight." Stavros explained. "It was entitled 'Too Little, Too Late'. Your Majesty," Stavros turned to America, "In my official capacity, I must advise you not to watch this video."

America was taken aback at being called out like this. "What? Why?" America narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "Because I'm a woman?"

Stavros tilted his head to the side and shook it, clearly telling her that she should know better than to think that way about him by now. "Because this video is extremely disturbing, and it is in the best interests of all of the King's advisers that you continue to rest undisturbed at night, whilst you are pregnant." That was sort of like kind concern for her wellbeing. At least, it was as close as the advisers ever got to being officially concerned for her wellbeing.

America wondered, for a heart-stopping moment, how bad the video could possibly be to warrant this warning. She turned to Maxon, and his eyes were all concern and no commands. He was letting her decide.

"I'm staying." America said, turning back to Stavros. "I need to know what my people are up against."

"Very well then." Stavros sighed, with a nod. "Your Majesties, this transmission did not come with any demands. We presume this means they still want the money they asked for last time."

"Play the video, Stavros." Maxon said, and Stavros nodded, reluctantly agreeing. He hit a button and the video began.

The room in the video was dark, probably another basement. There was a woman with short, light blonde hair, and she had a gag in her mouth, just like the man on the last video. She appeared to be kneeling, too, probably with her hands bound behind her back, though the image was too tight on her face to show her arms. The only light in the room was bright on her face, so that she could be clearly seen. For a few seconds, she just knelt there, bright blue eyes blinking widely into the lens. They could hear her breath, shuddering and anxious, and that was the only sound.

Then, in the background, there was a click. Suddenly, a new sound joined her breathing. Maxon's voice. It was the speech he'd just finished giving on the _Report_. It was hard to make out every word, but America could tell this was somewhere near the middle of the speech. There was an applause break as the studio audience cheered for something Maxon had just said.

The woman's face and hair now had a shadow of blue light on them, a reflection of the television light, the only other light in the room.

For five or ten seconds, nothing happened. Maxon's speech played in the background, and the woman blinked staring at them through the camera lens. Then a voice from off-camera said, "Good evening, your _Majesty_." The voice was deep and quietly amused, it also carried the lilt that America associated with the southern provinces. Perhaps he was from Midston or Sota. He had an accent kind of like Adele's, he could even have been from Honduragua.

The voice continued, "I suppose you believe me _ungrateful. _After all, tonight you announced plans to 'rebuild the South'. You probably think we should go home now. Enjoy our clean air and fresh water, and move on with our lives. Forgive and forget, perhaps? Forget our dead, gone before their time, killed unnecessarily by the monarchy's brutal policies?" The voice lowered, a dangerous edge to its words, "The babies who will never be born, the children who died in our arms from sicknesses you simply do not have in the North? We do not forgive you, your _Majesty_, and we do not forget. The South remembers, and we will have our justice."

"Justice, you are thinking?" the voice mocked an interrogatory tone. It found the thought of Maxon asking these questions amusing. "How can there be justice for such genocide? Surely the horrors you have known are beyond such retribution?" America turned to look at Maxon, nervously. His sentence structure and use of words like 'genocide' and 'retribution' indicated that this man, whoever he was, was very well-educated, indeed. Such an education would not have been available to anyone below a Three. Who was this man?

The voice returned to seriousness and America's eyes were drawn, like magnets, to the screen again, to the terrified woman blinking her bright blue eyes at them. "I'm glad you asked, your _Majesty_." the voice continued. Every time it said the word 'Majesty' it seemed to be mocking Maxon. "We have come to believe that the only way forward to true justice for your crimes against the South, is to hurt you. As badly as you have hurt us. There is no amount of time we could put you in prison that would lead you to feel the pain we have felt. We've lost our wives, our husbands, we've lost our babies, and our brothers and our sisters. There is no initiative you could ever enact that would heal those hurts. But if we come North and we poison your food and your water and your air, if we murder your husbands and wives and babies, then you will know our suffering. You will know what your policies cost us. That is as close to justice as we will get in this lifetime, don't you think?"

America's eyes now dashed to Stavros' grim face. It wasn't possible, this threat. They couldn't poison the food and water supplies, could they? Where would they get the resources? It wouldn't just be expensive, it would be scientifically impossible. Poisons to poison all of the air in the North? Such weapons were lost after the Fourth World War. Still, the look on Stavros' face was not reassuring.

"So this is where we're starting." the voice said, simply. "Right here. This woman is absolutely lovely, the perfect place to start, really. See those blue eyes, your _Majesty_? We chose them just for you. We know you have an affinity for blue eyes."

Maxon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his brow furrowing. America couldn't stop herself from shuddering. The rebels had chosen this woman because both she and America had the same shade of bright blue eyes. That's why the camera was so close to that woman's face. The rebels wanted to make sure Maxon got a good look at those eyes.

"Her name," the voice continued, "Is Anne. We like that name, we have a history with taking Annes from you." In the long silence that followed this pronouncement, a strangled sob escaped America's mouth. Anne had been in the wrong place at the wrong time during _the _rebel attack, that's what America had been told. Anne had never been on camera during the Selection, so even if the rebels had known her name and known what she meant to America, how could they have found her? How could they have targeted her?

The voice didn't let her puzzle on this for too long, it had other things to say. "Anne is a Three from Kent. She has two adorable children, a boy and a girl. Four year old twins, Jonah and Welsley. Jo-Jo and Wels." For the first time in the video, tears leaked from the woman's eyes. Her head sank down and her shoulders shook, hard.

"Her husband, Henry, hasn't slept a full night since she went missing. He's looking everywhere for her. People are telling him that she ran off, but he knows better. Anne and Henry adore one another. They're madly in love. She'd never run off on him, would you, Anne?" Anne shook her head but could not lift her face. She was crying too hard. "Don't worry, sweet Annie." The voice said, softly. This part wasn't for the camera, and America listened, but she could not detect a trace of mocking or sarcasm. "He'll know what happened to you, we'll give him your letter."

The face peeked up. Tears were falling fast now, but something about knowing that her husband wouldn't be left wondering about her had given her strength.

"Now, King Maxon, to business. Anne is a faithful subject, and she vocally supported the Queen during the Selection. She has been nothing but exemplary, and you have let this happen to her. You had the chance to free every single one of our hostages, we asked you for a reasonable sum. It's no more than you collect from the South in taxes every year. Yet you refused. We've had this woman for two weeks, plenty of time for you to mount a rescue operation. Were you simply too busy to be bothered? You always seemed to care for your Northern citizens. I have to admit, I am a little bit surprised. Perhaps we don't know you as well as we think we do?"

The camera moved, jarring the image on the screen up and down until it was repositioned about a foot farther away. More of the woman's body was in frame now, and her clothes were dirty but not tattered. This seemed to indicate that it was true, she had only been taken two weeks ago, if she'd been with them much longer her clothes would show more wear than that. If the timeline given by the rebel in the video was true, it made it much more likely that everything else he'd said was true. The woman's name was more likely to actually be Anne, and she was more likely to be a Three and have a husband and children missing her.

"In any event," the voice sighed, almost bored, "You have not given into our simple demands, and so the time has come to claim another Northerner." Anne's face fell again, her whole body shaking. "Anne, look into the camera." The voice said patiently. Anne couldn't do it. "Anne, you know we know where your family is. Are we giving them the letter, or are we paying them a _different _kind of visit?" The voice was so kind, even the threat was mild. Not at all like he was threatening to murder her babies, but more like he was a parent threatening her with no dessert.

Anne's face tilted up.

"That's it." The voice said. "Blink those bright blue eyes for me. Nice and wide." Anne complied. "Good girl. Now then, I'm going to say the names of your children one more time. Every parent deserves to hear their child's name spoken aloud one last time. And then, I want you to listen to the voice of your King. The King who utterly failed to save you." There was a pause. "Jonah." The voice recited, clearly. Anne closed her eyes again, sobbing. "Welsley." The voice said, and Anne shuddered.

There was a long pause. Uncomfortably long. The only sounds were Anne crying and Maxon's muffled voice in the background, broken up by intermittent applause.

A shadow fell over Anne's face, blocking out just the blue light from the television. Someone was standing between her at the screen. Her eyes were closed but her shaking had stopped. There was a swell of applause from the television, and America realized, her own blue eyes widening, that Maxon's speech was over. She was probably on her way down from the throne-like chairs on the side to give Maxon his hug. He was going to leave a hand lingering a little too long on her belly. Anne seemed to realize the speech was over, too, and her eyes flickered open, wide and beautiful, but only for a moment.

The gunshot in the video was louder than anything America had ever heard. It echoed in her ears over and over creating a dull roar. The video ended a millisecond after the shot, but not soon enough to stop America from seeing what had happened.

It was Celeste. It was Celeste all over again. America closed her eyes shut tightly, knowing in her mind that she'd just seen video of a new murder, but all that she could see behind her eyelids was Celeste. Celeste, shot in the back of the head. Celeste dying, over and over and over again, right before her eyes.

America leapt up from her chair and ran to the back of the room. There was a small bathroom used during longer meetings. She did not have time to turn on the light or close the door before the bile in the back of her throat became full-out vomit.

"Damn it—" she finally heard a sound other than the deafening roar of gunshots echoing in her ears, and it was Maxon's angry voice. He was in the middle of yelling something down the hallway.

America was busy trying to keep her hair out of her face and Amberly's crown from falling off her head and into the porcelain bowl full of throw-up, so she did not notice Mary's presence immediately. It took her a moment to fully feel the warm hand rubbing her back and the gentle, insistent tugging on the crown being held on America's head by one of her hands.

"Mary?" America managed, surprised.

"Just a moment, your Majesty." Mary unsnapped the train of sheer fabric that had been attached to America's shoulders, adding to her especially regal appearance tonight, and used that fabric to delicately wrap up the crown, and then she disappeared from the bathroom. A few seconds later, she reappeared, crown gone from her hands, and closed the door behind her. She dug in the pockets of her black dress and found a handful of hairpins. She took America's hair while America was still vomiting, and began pinning it up into a simple bun. When she was done, she knelt next to America and returned to gently rubbing her back.

"What are you doing here?" America finally asked, when the nausea passed.

"Silvia caught me on my way to your room. She was worried that you'd be in a security meeting all night, she asked me to bring you a cup of tea."

America blinked, surprised. "Silvia sent me a cup of tea? She's really going soft."

Mary nodded. "That tea is waiting for you, when you're ready."

"Got any—" But America didn't even have to finish her request. Mary reached again into her pocket and this time retrieved two individually wrapped peppermints. "Thanks, Mary." There were no words adequate to express America's gratitude for Mary, who had never failed America. America would be utterly lost without this woman supplying her with peppermints and tea and helping scrape her up off the floor in the middle of a security briefing. Mary seemed to understand, though, and pressed a kiss to the top of America's head before flushing the toilet and walking her out of the bathroom. There was a silver tray resting on a small wooden table beneath a large, ornate mirror at the back of the room. On it, one of America's favorite teapots and a matching teacup, as well as the wrapped up crown. At the front of the room, the men were conversing in extremely serious tones, rewinding the video and pausing it at certain frames to discuss.

"Mary," America said in a hushed tone as Mary poured the tea. "Take that crown to my room, it can stay there overnight, I don't want you doing the paperwork to return it to the vault tonight. Instead, please bring a large tray of coffee and a few light snacks for the boys. We're going to be here for a while."

"Yes, your Majesty." Mary gave a little curtsey.

"And Mary?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

America closed her eyes and watched Celeste being shot a few more times, thinking back to the video she'd just seen and the woman named Anne who had the same colored eyes as America. "I could really use some chocolate." Nothing would calm her frayed nerves like some chocolate right about now. The baby seemed to practically demand it.

Mary clasped America's hands and for the first time noticed that America was trembling. America noticed it, too. "Yes, ma'am. I'll leave this tray for you, alright?"

"Perfect, thank you, I'll drink it all."

"Is there anything else that I can get you?"

America opened her mouth, expecting to be able to think of something else that needed to be done, but her mind failed. She was on overload. Maxon's raised voice at the front of the room brought her back to reality. "Just stay close, Mary."

"Of course." Mary curtseyed and picked up Amberly's crown, then rushed away from the room. America clutched her teacup in both hands and rejoined the men at the front.

Aspen had a large map of the Northern Provinces on the conference desk, full of highlighted regions and X's and circles. The highlights, X's, and circles were the fruits of Aspen, August, and the British contingency's labors. The highlighted regions were most likely to contain hostages, the circles were facilities and residences with basements, the X's were places they'd checked and come up empty on.

Maxon looked over at America for a moment, and then pushed a chair up behind her. An unspoken command. Sit. America obeyed, mostly because she was feeling faint, but also because her husband had more than enough obstinance on his hands with the rebels. He gave her a pat on the shoulder to demonstrate his gratefulness.

America stayed there with the men until well after three in the morning, taking phone calls from field agents reporting, and discussing the costs and efficacy of new strategies being brainstormed by Aspen, August, or Maxon. Everything was more expensive than just giving the rebels the money they were asking for, but giving in to these demands was not an option on the table.

At around 3:30 in the morning, America's head started bobbing onto Maxon's shoulder as Stavros talked through a scenario with Aspen involving raids on likely rebel camps. She could hardly keep her eyes open.

"Go to bed." Maxon said softly into her ear, and America sat upright, forcing her eyes wide open.

"No." she realized that every eye in the room was on her. "I'm fine."

"Mer." Aspen shook his head. "You need your rest, come on."

"I want to help."

"You'll be more useful in the meetings tomorrow if you've had a good night's sleep, your Majesty." Stavros insisted.

"I don't want to have to spend three hours getting caught up."

"I'll send for you if anything changes." Maxon promised. "Go to bed. Take Mary with you? I want someone with you tonight."

There was a thought. Mary was still sitting in the hallway outside, occasionally being summoned to retrieve something from their offices. If America went to bed now, Mary would finally be able to get some sleep, too. Maxon seemed to notice the weakness in her resolve and he pounced on it, "Do it for our baby, Ames."

America sighed, heavily, which lead to a wide yawn. There was nothing she wouldn't do for this baby, even leave a security briefing so that she could go and get some sleep. "Alright." America stood, and the others in the room bowed to her. Maxon kissed her forehead and she traced his cheekbone with her thumb. "If you furrow your brow too much, it'll get stuck that way." America teased. The corners of Maxon's mouth raised just a little, and she stepped away. As she walked, she let her hand fall down to his chest and then trace along his arm until their fingers caught. She lingered there, holding his outstretched hand for just a moment. She gave it a squeeze and then walked away. As she closed the door behind her, she heard the men return to business.

Mary looked like she was jerking awake from sleep as America appeared. Poor thing, Mary's days usually started at four o'clock in the morning, so she'd been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now. "We're going to bed, Mary." America said, offering her a hand up from the chair outside the door. "Are you alright staying with me tonight? Maxon's request."

"I'm happy to, your Majesty." Mary assured her in a tired, gravelly voice.

"I'll have Silvia cancel my morning. Maxon will want us getting at least eight hours of sleep."

"'Us' as in 'you and me', your Majesty? Or 'us' as in 'you and the baby'?"

"All three of us. You, me, and the baby." America clarified. "Although… I'll have to ask Dr. Ashlar. I'm not sure if the baby actually sleeps yet."

Stavros had been worried about America's ability to sleep after viewing the video, but Stavros had underestimated the all-consuming power of pregnancy-exhaustion. America was out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, although for the brief time until she fell asleep, she kept seeing Celeste's shooting over and over in her mind. Those were also the final moments of Amberly's life, America realized as she yawned and turned her head, her forehead coming to rest against Mary's shoulder.

She dreamed of both Anne's that night, but only sporadically. Most of the night she did not dream. Occasionally, she'd see blonde haired Anne from the video, with her children and her husband, and then they were all shot to death, brutally, out of nowhere. A long time would pass with no dreams, and then she'd see her Anne, still in the crisp Palace uniform, knelt in that basement from the video, mouth gagged, eyes staring imploringly at America. And then the dream would fade. When America awoke, Mary was telling her that it was eleven o'clock, offering her a glass of orange juice and the anti-nausea pills, and informing her that Maxon was taking a nap in his rooms, but had requested to eat lunch with her in an hour. Would she like a bath?

That was the darnedest thing about mornings. After everything that had happened, after the death of yet another beloved Anne at the hands of the Southern rebels, after such a _long_, terrifying, brutal, horrific night; the sun rose. A new day started. And after everything the rebels claimed to have already lost at the hands of the Palace, they were about to lose a whole lot more.


	22. Chapter 22

After lunch, Maxon and America joined a freshly-showered Aspen in Security Room A. August had called in his wife for reinforcements at some point overnight, so now Georgia was there, too. Gavril had on a clean outfit, and the assistants from last night had been cycled out with a new batch of assistants for the day. They were all just waiting on Stavros, who was finishing a phone call in his office.

"Have you spoken with Lucy?" America asked, walking up to Aspen who was pouring himself a large mug of coffee from a coffee tray at the back of the room.

"Yeah. Mom's with her, and they're both alright."

"Good. I wish you could have made it home last night, I know how worried you are about her."

"Not worried." Aspen assured her. "More like… anxious. Generally, very anxious. She's a week overdue, you know? The midwife has been saying 'any day now' all month. It's more than 'any day now', at this point it's like 'any minute now'."

America smiled and rubbed his shoulder. "You need to train up Carter. That way you can have a second-in-command to leave in charge. Someone you trust to take these meetings for you so that you can get home to your wife and baby. Babies. I want lots of little Aspens and Lucys running around this palace."

"Is there room in the budget to promote Carter?" Aspen asked, curiously.

"We'll make room for it. Lucy _will_ have her knight-in-shining-armor at her disposal at all times, I won't compromise on that." America winked.

Aspen smiled down at her, gratefully. "That's such a load off my mind, Mer. You have no idea." He wrapped her in a tight, familiar hug and suddenly she was surrounded by the smell of him.

"Your Mom is still making that soap?" America sniffed deeply, her cheeks flushing with warmth. The smell of Aspen would always mean something incredibly specific and special to her. She'd been noticing over the past few days that her sense of smell had heightened. Marlee had assured her that this was normal pregnancy stuff, but it still seemed extraordinary to America. So now, here she was, the smell of Aspen so powerfully good that it was making her eyes water.

"Yeah. She sells it to a few families of Fours around town. She gives it away to a few Sixes, too."

America stopped just short of asking for some for herself. No matter how good this smell was, she couldn't, in good conscience, rub the scent of her ex-boyfriend all over her naked body every time she took a bath.

Almost as if he heard her thoughts, Maxon came up from behind them to get his own mug of coffee. "What's going on over here?"

"Aww." America grinned and leaned her head back from Aspen to look over at Maxon, bright eyed.

"What?" Maxon asked, amused.

"You actually _ask_ now." America teased. "Now, when you catch me in Aspen's arms, you actually ask me what I'm doing instead of just running off and trying to marry the first woman you find."

Maxon laughed when he realized what she was on about, tossing his head back and letting his shoulders shake with mirth. "Well, Kriss was busy today."

"Mer was suggesting I bump Carter up. Let him take some of these meetings for me so that I can make it home a little more often. For Lucy and the baby."

"That's a great idea." Maxon nodded approvingly between Aspen and America. "I wish we'd thought of it sooner. You'd need to train someone new for our personal guard, though."

"I've got a few candidates in mind." Aspen assured him.

"Great. You should move forward with that then. Immediately. Let us know how we can help."

"I will." Aspen smiled.

"And get your hands off of my wife, Commander Leger." Maxon officially ordered, and Aspen dropped America like a hot skillet, coming to attention and saluting Maxon at once.

America rolled her eyes and turned to her husband, who was hiding a smirk in his coffee mug. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Just a reminder that I got the girl in the end. And that I'm the King."

America shook her head and followed him over to the meeting table, "Yes, because when in history have beautiful blonde princes _ever_ managed to 'get the girl' from poverty-stricken disadvantaged soap-makers sons? You _really_ beat the odds on that one, Max."

Maxon laughed and rewarded her sarcasm with a quick kiss.

"By the way," America said, licking the bitter taste of Maxon's coffee off of her lips, "Can we talk about that phrase, 'get the girl'? You can't 'get' me, I'm not some object on a shelf. I'm a person who _chose_ you—" but she was interrupted by Maxon's lips. "Stop it!" She complained. "I'm making a point."

"Your point is well taken." Maxon smiled, reassuringly. "But you're not going to stop me from gloating. Hug your ex-boyfriend all you want, but you're _not_ going to stop me from gloating. Next time I promise to say something more diplomatic. How about 'I'm the winner and he's the loser'?"

America narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, but she couldn't keep the endeared smile off of her face. "Do I look like a relay race to you?"

They could have gone on like that all afternoon, those little playful disagreements were their favorite version of flirting, but that's when Stavros walked in and the meeting was called to order. The mood in the room shifted as Stavros put a large picture of the woman, Anne, from last night's video up on the screen at the front of the room.

"I just got off of the most interesting phone call." Stavros announced as everyone took their seats. "One of our undercover agents in the field was contacted by an inside source. They're vetting her now." America looked over at Aspen, who simply shrugged. This development was so new, he hadn't heard about it yet. She looked over at August and Georgia but they didn't seem anymore in-the-know than Aspen. "If she is who she claims to be, she's the wife of a prominent southern rebel sympathizer, a Two from Midston. It turns out, this sympathizer might be doing more than simply channeling funds to the rebels."

"What does she know?" Aspen asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

"Not much. It's not really about what she knows, Commander Leger, but what she has. If everything checks out, and she is who she claims to be, she might be handing a map of hostage locations over to our agents as early as this afternoon."

America's heart leapt into her throat. They had a chance to free the hostages. This was the break they'd been waiting for.

"How long would it take to verify the locations?" Aspen asked.

August answered, "It depends on how far apart they are. We'll have to look at it when we get the map."

"From there," Stavros said, "We'll want to execute a simultaneous recovery mission. It will need to be like clockwork, we don't want any of them calling the other locations and warning them about the rescue."

Gavril spoke up, "That is the moment I would recommend going live on television and informing the people of the rebel threat. We'll have good news to tell, that the hostages have been recovered, and that will help color the public's reaction. The Queen could reiterate the need to stand up to these bullies, to fight back. They will rally behind her, they always have, we could actually spin this into a positive thing for the monarchy."

America nodded, "Absolutely. Gavril, you and I can draft the speech together."

August spoke up, "In the meantime, we should send scouts to check out the facilities we suspect the rebels are using as base camps. If any of them are active, we can order raids on them as soon as the hostages are clear."

America turned to Maxon, "Rain a few bombs down from the sky?" she offered, remembering his lamentation that they couldn't combat the rebels in the same way that they'd combatted the New Asians during the New Asian War.

"I like the sound of that." Maxon nodded. Then he looked up at the picture of Anne on the screen. "Have we secured her family?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Aspen said. "I got word late this morning. We have eyes on them, so if the letter mentioned in last night's video transmission is delivered by a rebel, we'll follow him back to base. And, if they attempt to attack the husband or children, we'll be there to keep them safe."

"Good." Maxon breathed. "I'd like to send them my condolences, let them know the steps we've taken to bring these rebels to justice, but I can't do that until we've actually taken the steps. So get to work." Maxon stood and the whole room jumped to their feet. America was the last one to join them. "I've got an infrastructure meeting, and the Queen has preparations for the Grateful Feast Parade. You're to keep us updated throughout the day, but you're not to call us in until we have a visual of this map."

There was a chorus of 'Yes, your Majesty's. Maxon paused, looking thoughtfully at Anne's picture. "I am highly sympathetic to the plight of the South… but you _cannot_ murder my citizens and expect to get away with it. Make no mistake about it, this is an act of _war_ against Illéa." Maxon sighed, heavily. "We are at war."

* * *

That should have been the thought that stayed with America all through the day and into the night. Maxon, her Maxon, who spent the whole of their first two years of marriage negotiating a tenuous peace to end the New Asian War, was _declaring_ a war. Maxon hated wars. Maxon liked cameras and soccer and chocolate cake. Maxon _hated_ wars.

And unfortunately, it was taking longer than expected to verify the informant's story, to prove this woman really was who she said she was, so they couldn't trust the map she was providing them with, yet. It could all be a trap. But it was just as well, because the best thing to do to cripple the rebels was to act all at once, freeing the hostages, bombing their camps, and announcing these actions to the public to put the citizens on guard. But coordinating this kind of military operation took time and money. America definitely should have spent some time worrying about that.

Not to mention, she probably should have worried about the auctions of her dresses that were scheduled to take place in all of the provinces this coming weekend, the proceeds of which would help keep the prenatal care clinics open for another couple of months. Or she could have worried about her polling numbers and the slow progress they were making for the amendment to the laws of inheritance. Or the enormous televised Grateful Feast Parade she was coordinating with Silvia and Gavril and a whole host of assistants, including Marlee. But for some reason, when she awoke with her heart racing in the middle of the night, it wasn't for rebels, or auctions, or amendments or parades.

"Maxon." America whispered, shaking his shoulder.

Maxon was finally getting real sleep after the debacle of the previous night. "What?" he murmured, annoyed.

"I know how… I think I know how to pay for the schools. For the public schools."

"America… I love you so much." Maxon yawned. "Please stop talking."

America laughed, and curled back up on his chest, but after the heart-wrenching couple of days they'd had, this little glimmer of goodness was just too exciting. It took her hours to fall back to sleep.

Maxon and America had a plan to eat breakfast in his room that morning, just to buy themselves an extra hour alone together, but America just couldn't wait for breakfast to be over to make her first call of the day. As soon as Mary arrived with the breakfast cart, successfully waking his Majesty, King Sleeping Beauty with the smell of bacon, America crawled over Maxon, reached into his nightstand drawer, and pulled out his secure mobile telephone.

"What are you doing?" Maxon mumbled, rubbing both hands through his bed-head. Mary was blushing furiously as she set up the breakfast cart and poured Maxon's coffee and America's orange juice. She always blushed adorably when she had to bring breakfast in for them, and they were still snuggled up in bed.

"It's morning. I'm making a call." America grinned.

"Using my highly secure private line? The one given to me so that I could give the go-ahead on official military operations and espionage missions?"

"Um, yes."

Maxon grinned and tugged her down so that she was laying on top of him, "You're cute." he kissed her good morning. "But you should go to your office to make that call."

"If I go to my office, I can't be in bed with you." America reasoned.

Maxon sighed and tucked her red hair behind her ear, looking over every feature of her face, memorizing her 'first thing in the morning' look. "Fine. No authorizing any drone airstrikes, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises." America giggled, and started dialing. Mary was trying to escape from the room unnoticed, but as the phone rang in America's ear, America laughed, "See you in an hour, Mary!"

Mary gave a quick little curtsey and left the room, shaking her head and blushing deeply the whole way.

"You shouldn't torture her like that." Maxon said, rolling over onto his stomach and watching America closely. "At least not until she's married."

"She's a slow mover, Maxon, she might take _forever_ to get married. I can't even remember the last time she went on a—" America heard a voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" it asked. Bright and cheerful already. Of course she was awake. Probably already dressed and sparkling, too. She really would have made a fantastic queen.

"Kriss! I had an idea. Like, a real, live breakthrough."

"Kriss?" Maxon asked, surprised. He crawled over and pressed his cheek to America's. "Good morning, Kriss!" he called loudly into the phone.

"Um… Good morning, Maxon." Kriss laughed.

"She says good morning, now get off of me." America pushed him to the side.

"America, this isn't your private office number." Kriss said. "Where are you calling me from? I've never seen this number."

"This is Maxon's top security spy phone." America said. "Anyway. I know how we're going to pay for the schools. At least for the first ten years."

"Okay, please tell me." Kriss sounded like she was smiling.

"We've been looking at this through a very particular prism." America said, watching Maxon pretend to be stung by her rejection.

He tugged the sheets off of her and said, "Fine. If you don't want to talk to me, I bet the baby will appreciate me."

"Shh, Maxon! I'm on my date with Kriss right now. It'll be your turn later." America joked, and Kriss laughed loudly in her ear.

"_America_." Kriss laughed. "Don't tease him about that. He didn't have a choice." but she didn't sound very worried about it.

Maxon wasn't worried, either. He'd pushed America's nightie up and was now alternately glaring at her and whispering secrets to her naval.

"Seriously, Kriss," America pretended, as she brushed a hand through Maxon's hair and relished the tickle of the golden strands against her palm. "I wish I'd proposed to you more and more each day."

"Wouldn't that have been a twist?" Kriss laughed.

"Next time we're all in the Selection together." America promised. "Anyway, like I was trying to say before my dumb husband interrupted me—" She got a poke to her ticklish spot for that and giggled loudly. "We've been looking at this problem through a very particular prism. We've been saying that we have to remove the provision for private schools in order to make these public schools work."

"Yeah, we need the money from the upper castes to help pay for the lower castes, and we want everyone in a regulated system to make sure that no one is receiving a lesser quality of education just because their school doesn't have as much money." Kriss said.

"Right, and it'll help eliminate caste prejudices to school all of the children together."

"And there's no way to pay for free meals for lower caste children without upper caste children buying their own lunches. We can't have a whole school on the free lunch system." Kriss said. "We can't _afford_ to let some children go to private schools."

"But what if we did, just at first?" America asked.

"I don't really see how that would help." Kriss said, confused.

"Maxon, no, tickles." America squirmed. He'd started pressing little kisses to her ribs, but at her complaint, he moved his lips back to the valley between the sides of her rib cage. "What if we allowed the upper castes to keep their private schools. They're independently funded, and with a little oversight to make sure they're following the same curriculum as the public schools, it would make the upper caste parents happy, and work for our purposes."

"I still don't see it. How do we pay for the public schools this way?" Kriss asked.

"We _tax_ tuition at private schools. You want to go to a private school? Fine. You're already paying tuition, you're just going to pay a little more. And in exchange, crime rates will plummet as kids are kept off the streets and kept from starving it out, they're educated to take on better jobs when they graduate instead of having to learn whatever it was that their parents knew. You wouldn't believe the statistics on pickpocketing as a survival trade taught from parents to children. There _has_ to be a way to sell this to the upper castes. They get to keep their precious private schools and tutors! And they get to wait a little longer before their kids have to mix with lower caste children. What do you think?"

Kriss didn't speak for a few seconds. She was absorbing the idea, trying to poke holes in it to make sure it was sturdy. America heard Maxon, in the silence, whisper to her bellybutton, "Mommy is a genius."

"America…" Kriss finally said, "That's a _brilliant_ idea. Seriously."

"Really?" America asked, too excited to breathe.

"Yes! I mean, it won't pay for everything, we'll have to get out the spreadsheets and have a look."

"Oh my God, Kriss, we could do this!" America propped herself up on her elbow so that she was leaning up.

"What if we added in a little requirement, a certain number of spots that private schools need to reserve for scholarship children? There'd be a little caste mixing, but not quite the shock of total integration."

"We could try it. Pilot it for a few years, see if it helps or hurts." America nodded. "In the mean time, kids who never would have managed to afford a private school would be getting a private school education. That sounds good to me."

"When can I come over to the Palace?" Kriss asked.

"Tomorrow. I'm booked today, but tomorrow's a Saturday and my schedule's a little lighter. It should be easier for me to get in and see some advisers to get their thoughts on it, too."

"Perfect." Kriss said, ecstatically. "I'm meeting George for brunch, I'll talk it through with him, see if he has any suggestions."

"Bring him tomorrow!" America demanded, fighting back a giggle as Maxon began nuzzling her stomach softly.

"We'll see. He's busy."

"Too busy for the Palace?" America asked, skeptically.

"You know he gets intimidated by Maxon. My ex-boyfriend is the King, what do you expect?"

"Alright, don't push him. But he's always welcome here, make sure he knows that."

"I will."

"See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow. Good job, America." Kriss said.

"Bye."

"Bye."

America sighed happily and pushed the button on the phone to end the call. Then she handed it to Maxon, who tossed it haphazardly on the bed and went back to drawing secret messages on her belly for the baby to decode. The phone was immediately lost in blankets.

"Okay." America said. "I hate to interrupt father/baby bonding time, but I need you to eat that bacon now. The smell is killing me."

Maxon sighed and pushed his body forward to move his mouth within kissing range of her lips. "Fine. I will perform my fatherly duty and eat all the bacon."

"Thank you." America smiled and rewarded him with the kiss he'd been hoping for. He rolled off the bed and moved over to the tray.

"Juice in bed, my queen?"

"Yes, please." America said, happily.

"That really is a good idea, America. The tax."

"Well, you know what it means, don't you?" America said, accepting her large glass of orange juice and taking a gulp from it.

Maxon watched this gulp, amused, and then said, "What does it mean? You're educating my citizenry, which is the first step towards truly democratic elections?"

"Yeah. But what it means for tomorrow is that I need a meeting with Jepsen."

Maxon winced. "Oh."

"I want to hear what he thinks of the tax."

"I don't know, Ames…"

"I won't be mean to him anymore, I swear!" America grinned into her juice and took another long drink.

Maxon sighed and chewed through a piece of bacon, thoughtfully. "Alright. You're right, you need to meet with Jepsen about this. But I want to be at that meeting, too."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Just in case things get out of control again—"

"Oh, Maxon, come on. We're both adults who respect each other professionally—"

"He didn't sound particularly respectful at that meeting." Maxon frowned.

"Fine. If it will make you feel better, I won't fight you on this. Come to my meeting with Jepsen. It'll be one less thing for you to worry about." America reasoned.

"Thank you, Love. French toast?" Maxon offered, gesturing to a plate on their cart.

"Um… start me off with something light. That orange looks good."

Maxon choked on a laugh, "So breakfast this morning… is orange juice and an orange?"

"You know what?" America laughed. "Next time, _you_ have the baby. Then _you_ can deal with heavy breakfasts on a pregnant stomach."

Maxon eyed her suspiciously, "What pregnant stomach? I think you've somehow _lost_ weight since becoming pregnant."

America just glared at him and nursed her juice until he gently tossed her the orange and practically started a food fight by hitting her on the side of the head with it.

* * *

America practiced what she was going to say to Jepsen several times in the mirror before the meeting. She had a calm, rational, level-headed approach that might even mend some fences after the debacle at the War Council meeting.

When Maxon sent a note over to schedule the appointment, the response from Jepsen was quick and succinct. He wrote that he was glad they'd contacted him, he'd been meaning to schedule an appointment with them all week. He had some business that they needed to discuss.

"He can't take anything else from my clinics." America had shrugged. "Maybe he's gunning for the Southern Cleanup Initiative again?"

"Don't even joke about that." Maxon had frowned grimly, but it hadn't really been a joke.

When Jepsen walked into Maxon's office on Saturday morning, he wasn't alone. Maxon's public opinion adviser, Renken, was with him. So whatever Jepsen wanted to discuss with them, it probably had something to do with the amendment. Suddenly, America wished Stavros was with them, instead of spending the day with his grandchildren, if only to give a slight vocal majority to the pro-amendment sentiment.

"Your Majesties," Renken bowed deeply. "Are you well today?"

"Very well, thank you." America said, trying to play the cheerful hostess, but it was clear that she was on edge.

"You had your weekly checkup with Dr. Ashlar yesterday, didn't you, your Majesty?" Renken asked, with polite interest.

"Yes, you'll be happy to hear that your future monarch is healthy and strong, and we'll be hearing a heartbeat next week." America said, pouring glasses of water for their guests. The men were now waiting for her to take her seat so that they could sit at the opposing settees. Maxon received his glass last and thanked her with a quick kiss on the cheek. He could see how nervous she was, and ordinarily he wouldn't have broken protocol like that, but he was trying to set her at ease. America gave him a grateful look in response, and then sat.

"Your Majesties had a matter to discuss with me?" Jepsen asked, politely, after a long drink from his glass.

"Yes, but we're very curious to hear the matter that _you_ had to discuss with _us_." Maxon said, with perfect composure. It would have been hard for Jepsen to guess that what Maxon really meant was that they were anxiously _dreading_ hearing the matter he had to discuss with them.

"Of course, your Majesty." Jepsen nodded, and dug out his paperwork. "On the matter of your Majesties agendas for the next three months, as submitted by your offices for review on Monday, I have been working closely with Renken to correctly appropriate funds towards items that will most improve your polling numbers, and alert you to items on your agendas that will have a negative impact on your polling."

Maxon blinked. Even he was taking a moment to absorb the official, formal language Jepsen was speaking in. "We... appreciate your diligence." Maxon said.

Jepsen accepted this response and continued, "After announcing your Southern Cleanup Initiative on the _Report_, the combined polling numbers of yourself and the Queen improved by three points."

"That's very good news." Maxon said.

"We're expecting the televising of the Grateful Feast Parade to further improve the score by one or two points." Jepsen said. "And, of course, the announcement of the royal baby will bring big boosts. However, in an effort to speed along the advancements that your Majesties are making, I would like to suggest cutting certain, less popular programs from your schedule for a time. This will free up funds for other, more popular programs."

"Including my prenatal clinics?" America couldn't stop herself from spouting.

"Perhaps, your Majesty, or perhaps to his Majesty's food program or to local security measures that would help keep your citizens safe from rebel threats and crime." Jepsen said, tersely.

"I see." America allowed. So he had no intention of using this money to help her initiative. Seriously, what was Jepsen's problem with babies?

But Maxon, as usual, had caught on to the real threat in Jepsen's words, "Which less popular programs did you have in mind, Jepsen?"

"Your Majesty has, on the schedule for the next three months, an international summit for your allies."

"Yes, the Queen and I have been working to put that together for several months now."

"It would be better, your Majesty, not to host an international summit this year."

America and Maxon shared a quick look in which a lot of things were communicated. Mostly Maxon telling America to stay calm and quiet.

Maxon turned back to Jepsen, "Is this what your research indicates, Mr. Renken?"

"It does, sir." Renken said, apologetically. America was letting this one soak in slowly. Her heart was in her stomach, and a heavy frown sat on her face. In addition to all of the work she and Silvia had put into planning this summit, it was also supposed to be the official excuse for Nicoletta to come over and spend some time doting on her future godchild. Renken was still talking, "The people of Illéa are looking inward right now, wanting to rebuild the nation before focusing outward on accommodating other nations."

Maxon sighed, heavily. "They want me to give them my full attention?"

"Consider it practice for when you become a father, sir." Renken smiled, weakly, sympathy all over his face.

Maxon turned to America, knowing exactly what she was thinking, and leaned in, "There's no reason Nicoletta still can't come and visit for a couple of weeks, my love."

"No, I suppose not." America sighed. "I was... I was going to make inroads with the Chancellor of the German Federation, Maxon. She's a mother, too, I was going to ask her for quirky German advice."

Maxon smiled at her, "Perhaps for our next one?"

This consoled America somewhat, and seeing this, Maxon returned his attention to Jepsen and Renken, "Where would the money from the summit go?"

"Infrastructure, sir, an extremely popular initiative." Jepsen said, simply.

Maxon considered this. "I can't say that it's a bad idea. Our roads need attention, we've got bridges in states of dangerous disrepair in some parts of the country. And if the people want my attention on nation building here, in Illéa, how better to give them what they want than by literally building up Illéa's infrastructure?"

"Our sentiments exactly, sir." Jepsen said.

"Very well. The summit can be postponed for a year, barring international crisis."

"Of course, sir." Jepsen nodded.

"What's next?" Maxon asked.

"The Queen's agenda to move forward with an open-floor debate on overhauling the public school system." Jepsen said, matter-of-factly.

America blinked. _No way_. It wasn't possible. He wasn't going to tell her that she couldn't have the schools on the _day after_ she _finally_ figured out how to pay for them. There was just no possible way. "What about it?" America asked, tensely.

"Our polling indicates that enormous inroads could be made amongst Twos and Threes if the discussion of integrating their children with lower castes, at a public school which they would be forced to pay for, was tabled for five years."

"Five years?" America asked, dangerously. "_Five_ years? Maxon's summit-"

"America." Maxon said, softly, shaking his head.

Jepsen pressed on, "You need the support of Twos and Threes, it's the only way you'll be able to institute your amendment, your Majesty."

"_The_ amendment, Jepsen, and _we_ are instituting it." America practically spat.

"Okay, we need some time-" Maxon began, sensing the danger ahead.

"No, we don't." America snapped. "This is possibly the most vital program on either of our agendas. We have grown adults in this country who can barely write their names, Jepsen, how do you propose we invite them to vote in a democratic election for Mayors if they can't write the candidate's name, and can't read well enough to understand the policies of the person they are voting for?"

"Your Majesty, I understand what is at stake-"

"So we'll win Twos and Threes another way. Education stays." America said, firmly.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but _the_ amendment will not pass without the support of the upper castes, and this is the single biggest issue for them. They like the King, and they like you well enough, they love your sister, Lady May, and your brother, Mister Gerad. They're willing to support you on a personal level, but they will not abide your forcing their children to mix with-"

"Mix with what?" America asked, sharply. "Filthy Fives?"

Jepsen's cheeks burned at the prejudicial slur. "No, your Majesty. I was going to say, 'children of lower castes'."

Maxon sighed heavily, "You can't keep doing this to the Queen, Jepsen. She does important work in this country."

"Of course she does, sir." Jepsen nodded. "My suggestions are in no way personal. I understand the difficulty, but the truth is that we are attempting to do a very difficult thing, in safely enacting this amendment without accidentally initiating a coup. It is a tough task, and it demands tough choices be made. The amendment, or public schools. You may have them both in time; you may not have them both immediately."

"So I have to choose between my child, and all of the other children in Illéa?" America clarified, stunned.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty. I wish I could change the numbers for you." Jepsen said. "But numbers are impartial and immutable."

America did not so much as blink. Maxon took a long drink of water and said, "Thank you, gentlemen. That's all."

"Your Majesty, what was it you wished to discuss?" Jepsen asked.

"The Queen had a brilliant idea for how to pay for the public schools you just forbade her from pursuing for the next five years, so we'll just go ahead and put a meeting on the books for five years from now to discuss it." Maxon said, sharply.

"I apologize, your Majesty." Jepsen said, noting Maxon's anger. "It's not me, sir. It's statistics. Numbers."

"Thank you for coming in on a weekend. I'll see you both on Monday." Maxon dismissed them, without the courtesy of standing to see them to the door. Jepsen and Renken looked at each other nervously, then stood and scurried out into the hall. Maxon's office doors closed loudly behind them.

"America-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Ames, I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Maxon." America said, firmly.

"I know it's supposed to be hard... doing great things is hard work... but it shouldn't be _this_ hard." Maxon sighed, sadly. "This isn't right."

"We have to wait five years, so we wait five years." America said, standing. "The citizens of Illéa have waited five _generations_ for these schools, what's five more years?"

"Love-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Maxon." America repeated, "I'm going to my office to get ready for Kriss."

"Do you need anything?"

"Send Jepsen to New Asia."

"On vacation?"

"No, start a war, and Jepsen is the only soldier, and send him to New Asia to die." America said, walking over to the doorway that separated their offices.

"Okay, then." Maxon said, gently. "I'll see you on the balcony tonight?"

America frowned heavily, nodded slightly, and then closed the door behind her.


	23. Chapter 23

Kriss was right on time and all aglow when she walked into America's office about a half an hour later. For the first thirty seconds, she didn't even notice America's heavy frown, that's how excited she was.

"George thinks it's brilliant! And you know that's something, coming from George Barner." Kriss grinned. "And if we slip the tax in at the start of the next fiscal year in October, we can stockpile a little bit of money to pay for upgrades to the buildings we choose… America?"

"You should sit, Kriss." America said. Kriss had been pacing the floor, practically floating on air as she'd been talking. America was stiff, frozen in her chair behind her desk. Her stomach felt like a heavy anchor, filled with dread. The only thing that could make this day worse, after losing public schools, was having to tell Kriss that they were losing public schools.

"What's wrong, America, are you alright?" Kriss asked, selfless concern all over her beautiful face.

"I…" America shook her head. She just couldn't make herself say it. She couldn't say that she was fine. She wasn't fine. "Sit down, Kriss, please."

"Okay." Kriss perched on the edge of the chair facing America's desk and said, apprehensively, "What's going on? Are you alright? Is Maxon alright?"

"I had a meeting with Maxon's economics adviser before you got here today." America began.

"Did he think it was brilliant? It _is_ brilliant, America." Kriss allowed a tiny smile to tug at her lips.

"He… he never heard the idea. It turns out, the push for public schools is costing the monarchy too much in the polls. I have to table it… for five years." The last part came out in a heavy sigh.

Kriss tilted her head to the side, certain she'd misheard. "I don't understand. Who cares what it's costing you in the polls? The polls don't matter. Illéa needs schools, we agreed on this—"

"It… it's not that simple. Twos and Threes don't like—"

"It doesn't matter what they like, America!" Kriss said, emphatically. "That's the benefit of Maxon being _King_. He can really change things, and you're the Queen, you change things, too—"

"We're still doing schools. This way, we have more time to find locations for school buildings and we can adequately train more teachers." For the last half an hour, before Kriss got there, America had been desperately sieving through the situation, cleaving to anything that looked remotely like a silver lining.

"But, America, _Five_ years?" Kriss said, aghast.

"I know, Kriss."

"We don't have five years to just sit around and wait." Kriss insisted.

"Well, maybe we can look at George's public library proposition and do that first—"

"Only if it'll keep you popular, though, is that it?" Kriss demanded, irritated. "God, America, you _never_ cared what people thought of you during the Selection. You broke rank to try to save Marlee, you got up on national television and proposed eliminating the castes, you gave that man your jewelry in the Convicting, in direct defiance of the King and tradition. And now here you are, cowering in your Palace, unable to live without the people's _approval_."

"It's not like that, Kriss, there are other things going on here—"

"Oh, I'm sure." Kriss shook her head, disgusted, "You're really leaving those kids out in the cold, uneducated, with no help, for _five_ years?"

"I… I'm sure we can figure out something else… the libraries, or educational childcare for children too young for school—"

"School? _What_ school?" Kriss demanded.

"There are existing options we can work with for now, Kriss, we can credit tutors who volunteer free hours with lower caste students-"

"That's not good enough!" Kriss snapped. "It won't even begin to address the problem and you know it!"

"There's nothing I can do, Kriss, we have to wait until the timing is right. We have no choice." America said, but she barely believed it.

"Wow." Kriss stood. "Well, I don't know which Twos and Threes you're trying to impress right now. But this Three is _not_ impressed. I can't believe you, America."

"It's not as simple as you're making it sound, Kriss!" America argued, cheeks flushing both from shame and anger, not that she was really angry at Kriss. She was angry at herself, and angry at Jepsen, and angry at the dumb people of Illéa for wanting to stay dumb. But Kriss was the one standing in front of her, yelling back at her. "There are things happening at the Palace that you couldn't possibly understand."

"'Couldn't possibly understand'?" Kriss asked, thoroughly insulted. "Why not, America? Because Maxon didn't choose me?"

"What? No, this has nothing to do with that—"

"It doesn't? Not even a little bit?" She asked, accusatorially. "Education was my philanthropic project, the one I worked very hard on while you were busy trying to get yourself thrown out of the Selection. But it didn't work, you stayed in the Selection, and Maxon chose you. So now you get to sit on _that_ side of the Queen's desk and tell me my project is delayed for five years, and that there's nothing I can do about it, and that I 'couldn't possibly understand'. And whatever it is that you've decided to do instead, that thing I couldn't possibly understand, _that__'__s_ what you're going to do now, because Maxon didn't choose me, he chose you, so that's the way it goes."

America shook her head, dumbfounded as Kriss gasped for breath after that tirade. "I don't understand why you're trying to make this about the Selection. This isn't about who's Queen and who isn't, this is about the fact that Maxon _needs_ the support of his people in order to do his job."

"Maxon also needs an _educated_ citizenry." Kriss challenged.

"Well, Maxon's just going to have to wait five years, he'll have to be patient."

"He's really alright with this? With you canceling schools to win some sort of perverted popularity contest where no one else is competing?"

"You have completely misunderstood the situation, Kriss."

"That's not surprising, I'm just a peasant with a peasant brain that couldn't possibly understand-"

"Oh, stop it!" America snapped. "You know that's not what I meant."

"No, America. I don't know what you mean at all. I thought I knew, but now... I have no idea what you stand for." America winced at Kriss' inversion of the word 'mean'.

"You're really not going to give me the benefit of the doubt, here, Kriss? After everything we've been through together, you can't trust me a little?"

"I don't know, America. Maybe you're right. Maybe I just _can__'__t_ understand."

"I'll explain it all later, I swear. It's about…" America sighed, frustrated by the bonds that the 'Classified Level 1' stamp covering her amendment put on her mouth. "Do you remember that thing that we talked about… that I had to consult with the Italians about? That very big thing?"

"What about it?" Kriss demanded, short tempered and barely listening anymore through her anger.

America did her best not to commit treason with the amount of information she revealed, "That's… that's what this is about. I'll be able to say more when it's over, we'll talk in January."

"In _January_? It's June, we'll talk in seven months?" Kriss asked, astounded. "Seriously? That's the best you can do?"

"Yes, Kriss, that is actually the best I can do." America snapped. "But thank you, the venom in your voice is _exactly_ what I needed today." she couldn't sit still anymore, she stood and started pacing behind her desk. "God, Kriss! You think I did all of this just to get you?! Like I called you yesterday and fed you that idea _just_ to trick you into coming here today so that I could rip the rug out from under you?"

"Just please tell me you traded schools for something other than popularity." Kriss said, softly shaking her head.

"Nope." America said, hands flying wildly through the air. "You got me. That's it. I just really, suddenly, after everything that you learned about me in the Selection, _now_ need the people to adore me, to fawn over me, to worship me up on my pedestal. You know, the one on _this_ side of the Queen's desk!"

Kriss frowned, not amused by America's rant, and grabbed her purse. "I'll talk to you later, America."

"Yeah." America slouched down into her chair and glared as Kriss stalked out of her office.

* * *

That night, Maxon found America curled up with her knees tucked to her chest, leaning against the wall in the corner of her room. He'd come looking for her after going out to the balcony and finding that she wasn't there, and then seeing a lamp on in her room.

"You're crying." he breathed, when he found her over there. He crossed the room quickly and knelt before her, "Ames." he whispered. He wanted her to talk.

She didn't know how to express the kind of pain she was in. It was a brand new feeling, she'd never hurt like this before. It had been haunting her all afternoon, ever since the shouting match with Kriss had ended, and the silence set in. "Is it worth it, Maxon?" she asked, her voice small and shaky.

He cupped both of her cheeks with his hands and brushed the hot tears away with his thumbs. "It is. I promise, it's worth it."

"We're sacrificing so much—"

"I know. This is an expensive amendment, isn't it? It's costing us a lot. You much more than me."

"Are you sure this is the right thing?" America asked, nervously meeting his eyes.

"Absolutely. There's no question in my mind." Maxon assured her, knowing that's what she needed to hear.

"It was just some dumb idea I had—"

"Don't ever say that." Maxon shook his head. "This is our brave and righteous cause, this is _not_ just some 'dumb idea' you had."

America hugged her knees even closer, her whole body trembling. "I chose our children. It was our children, or all of the other children in Illéa, and I chose ours."

"This is the way it has to be. You remember what Stavros said when he told us he'd back our amendment? He said that if we were ever going to be popular enough to pass it, it would be now. We can't afford to wait five years for the amendment, so that we can do schools first. That doesn't mean that we won't do schools, though."

"It's just… I don't know how to say… I've never…" America sniffled, trying to put words to the unfathomable ache in her chest. "For the first time in my life, I _know_ my dad would be disappointed in me. Tonight, I have to be glad he's dead, and that _kills_ me." She sobbed, trying to turn away, but Maxon's hands held her steady. He couldn't stand the shame on her face, and this was his way of making sure she kept her head held high. By keeping it there, himself. She took in a shuddering breath and said, "But I have to be glad he's dead, because if he was alive… he would be _so_ disappointed in me."

Maxon didn't get the chance to say anything, there was a knock at the door and Avery stepped inside, "Your Majesties," he spotted them on the floor together and looked discreetly away, "I apologize. There's an urgent phone call for her Majesty waiting in her office."

"Do you know who it is?" America asked, tugging down Maxon's hands from her face.

"Lena Leger, ma'am."

America got to her feet, still a little wobbly. "I have no idea…" Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to her. Was it Aspen? Was Aspen hurt? Aspen was spending the weekend at home, had something happened to him? America took off for her office at an all out sprint and Maxon followed behind at a steady jog. Silvia, thankfully, also had the weekend off, so she was spared witnessing this bout of un-royal-like behavior.

America tore into her office and raced to her phone, yanking it off of the receiver and gasping into it, "Lena?"

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry to disturb you."

"God, Lena, don't ever call me 'your Majesty'. I'm little America Singer to you."

She could hear Lena's smile through the phone, and was suddenly ten times calmer because of it, "I just like to call you 'your Majesty', it's fun to think of you as a 'Majesty', sweetheart."

"Lena, is everything okay? Is it Aspen? Is Aspen alright?"

"Aspen's been better. He's beside himself right now, honey, Lucy's been in labor all day—" and in the background, America heard a loud, agonizing scream as Lucy pushed her way through what must have been a devastating contraction.

"Lucy's having the baby!" America gasped, and Maxon's previously concerned face lit up with excitement.

"That's right." Lena said, now speaking a bit more hurriedly. "The midwife says the baby will be here in the next twenty minutes, which is a lifetime for poor Lucy, but—" there was another aching, gut-wrenching scream in the background and America winced, hand flying to cover her stomach out of instinct. "I should get back to them. But Aspen wanted me to call you and tell you to get over here, if you want to meet your godchild tonight."

"We're on our way, Lena!"

"Good. And he also said… what was it? Oh, yes. Bring Avery? If that means anything to you."

"Sure, he'll want Avery to protect us while we're out of the Palace."

"Right, I'm sure that's it then." There was another teeth clenched, tormented cry in the background. This one sounded weaker, maybe even a little bit frightened.

"Lena, tell Lucy that I'm on my way, that I love her so much, and to be brave and strong for that baby, okay? Tell her all of that."

"On your way, love her so, brave and strong. Got it."

"We'll see you in a few minutes, Grannie." America teased and Lena laughed before hanging up. For a moment, America and Maxon just stared at each other in a kind of elated shock. "Maxon, we have to go!" America said, excitedly.

"I'll call the car around." Maxon grabbed the phone, "Go get Mary, we'll bring her."

"I can't… she's not here. Today's her day off." America said, "I'm not sure how to reach her…"

"Then run upstairs and get my camera, the one with the 85 millimeter lens."

"The…" America stopped and turned to him, puzzled. She was still learning the difference between all of his camera gear. "The big one or the small one?"

"The medium one." Maxon grinned at her, as her face lit up with recognition.

America was again sprinting as she rushed upstairs to get the camera and update Avery. Realizing that there was a distinct possibility that Maxon might turn the camera in her hands on her at some point in the evening, America quickly wiped away the mascara marks on her cheeks from when she'd been crying earlier, and freshened up her lips and eyes as a shortcut to make herself look brighter and fresher, overall. Then Avery escorted her briskly down to the entrance where Maxon was waiting for them. Several other guards fell in line behind them as they walked, and would be following along in the car behind theirs, to help secure Aspen's house.

On the way over, Maxon kept an arm wrapped tight around America, whose knee was bouncing up and down with alarming rapidity.

"Are you okay, Ames?" Maxon laughed, placing a hand on her knee to still it.

"Lucy's having a baby right now, Maxon!" America exclaimed. "She could be literally giving birth right this second."

"It's amazing."

"Isn't she going to be the cutest little mommy?"

"Very cute." Maxon nodded, "But I can think of a cuter one." he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl? I hope everything's alright. She sounded like she was in _so_ much pain."

The rest of the ride over to Aspen and Lucy's house was much like this, America was wracked with frenetic nerves for the birth of her best friend's first baby, and maybe projecting some of her own nerves about giving birth onto the situation.

America was out the door before the chauffeur could come around to open it for her, and she knocked briskly on the front door of the house Maxon had given Aspen and Lucy as a wedding present. Maxon hardly had time to join her there before Kamber opened the door and squealed excitedly, "America! I mean… um, your Majesty—"

"Oh, don't do that to me, Kamber, not on a night like this!" America laughed, walking into the house.

"Hello." Maxon nodded, congenially but a little awkwardly. He'd only ever seen Kamber and Celia at Aspen and Lucy's wedding, but he already knew Kamber and Celia to be the only women in the whole country who dissolved into absurd giggles at the sight of him, rather than falling into deep curtseys. Therefore he'd had to learn, for the first time in his life, how to greet someone else instead of being first greeted by a bow or curtsey. Here, he was demonstrating his new and unrefined skills.

As expected, Kamber dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Celia was the next down the hall and America gave her a quick hug. Jemmy was waiting for her, too, looking more and more like a young Aspen every day. The hug from Jemmy was a little longer. And then, at last, America was led to the large, open bedroom where she found Aspen, Lucy, and a brand new baby she'd never seen before.

Aspen was bent over Lucy, who lay exhausted and still more than a little sweaty, in the bed. In her arms, there was a bundle of soft-looking homemade blankets, a little baby face poking out of them.

America felt like her whole body was swept up in an ocean wave as she steeled herself against a bout of dizziness, locking her knees to keep herself upright, reminding herself to that she was supposed to be breathing, and proclaiming, tears bursting from her eyes and pouring out in rivers, "Aspen! You're a daddy."

Aspen turned at the sound of her voice, his face split into a wide, glowing smile. "Mer! You made it!"

"Of course I made it, where did you think I would be?" the end of America's sentence was muffled in Aspen's shoulder as they embraced. America clung to him, one hand resting at the base of his neck and the other arm wrapped around his waist.

"I know how busy you and Maxon have been. I'm _so_ glad you're both here." Aspen said.

"You're a dad, you're a father, that's your baby, you're a daddy!" America mumbled quickly, trying to make herself believe it.

Aspen chuckled and squeezed her tightly to his chest. Then he gently lifted her about an inch off the ground, turned, and placed her delicately on the edge of the bed where Lucy lay. He pried America's hands off of him, and leant down so that their foreheads were touching. "Mer? Do you want to hold her?"

America blinked, her wide blue eyes meeting his green ones. "…Her?" she asked, sniffling.

"You have a goddaughter." Aspen announced, grinning.

America leaned back, shocked, looking over at Lucy for confirmation. Lucy giggled softly and nodded.

"Maxon, get your camera ready, buddy." Aspen laughed, reaching over and picking up the baby. Lucy wanted to sit up a little straighter to get a better view, so Aspen paused and leant her his other arm so that she could pull herself a little more upright in the bed. She winced as she settled back in, now sitting up, but she didn't appear to be in anything like the kind of pain she'd been in when Lena had called earlier.

Aspen sat between Lucy and America and Lucy leant forward and wrapped her arms around Aspen's free arm, clasping his hand between both of hers. "America Singer Schreave," Aspen said, looking from his baby's sleeping face, to America's adorable, wide, amazed gaze, "It is my absolute pleasure to introduce you to your goddaughter, America Grace Leger." he said, as he settled the baby into America's arms.

At first, America just blinked at the baby, awash in blankets, cradled in her arms. She hadn't held a baby this young since Gerad, and babies that young are overwhelming, not that it took much to overwhelm America these days, with her hormones being what they were. Still, the names sort of rang in her ears for a moment, jumbled in a heap, and she couldn't put them in the right order at first. But when she did, everyone knew, because she gave a sort of choked sob and looked up, "What?"

"It was Lucy's idea. When we talked about girl names, we kept coming back to you—"

"But you made me her godmother, and Maxon's her godfather. That's such an honor already."

"If it wasn't for you and Maxon, Lucy and I never would have met. _Maxon_ posted me outside _your_ door all during the Selection, and I got to see Lucy every single day. Without you and Maxon, our baby girl wouldn't even exist. We're thinking we'll call her Meri. Or maybe Gracie, we'll have to see what feels right. But we definitely want her to be 'America'."

Lucy spoke up, her voice hoarse and soft, but everyone in the room could hear her. "You're a great queen, your Majest… America. You are certainly going to go down in history as a strong, smart, brave, and truly good woman, leader, wife, and mother. We want no less for our daughter."

Next to America, the bed dipped, and Maxon sat down. He'd taken his pictures, and passed the camera off to Jemmy, who was exploring his new job as photographer with relish.

"Ames?" Maxon said, softly, placing a hand on the back of her neck, gently. "What do you think of little baby America?"

"I love her so much I can hardly breathe." America whispered.

Aspen and Lucy chuckled, sharing a knowing look. They were finding her overwhelmed state a little _too _amusing. America tore her eyes away from the sleeping baby to look up at them and joke, "Oh, just you wait! It's your turn next."

This only widened Lucy's smile, but Aspen's eyes reflected surprise. Suddenly, he was imagining what it would actually be like to hold America's baby in his arms for the first time. It was a sobering thought.

America pressed a soft kiss onto the baby's forehead and the baby wiggled her little face but did not awaken. America looked up at Maxon and said, "You've never seen one this size before, have you?"

"No." Maxon said. "I had no idea they came so small." The only other baby Maxon had ever held was Astra, and Astra had been almost four months old by the time Maxon had gotten his hands on her.

"Remember the neck?" America asked, beginning to shuffle the baby into his arms.

"Yes, I remember." Maxon promised, eagerly, but looked quite surprised when he realized that America had pulled away and now he was holding the baby girl all by himself.

America leant her chin on his shoulder and looked up at him, adoringly. "What do you think?"

"She's amazing." Maxon took a deep breath, in awe of the little life in his arms. He looked over at Aspen and Lucy, "Should I call her Meri? Or Gracie?"

"Either." Aspen grinned happily.

"Hello." Maxon cooed down at the sleeping baby before him. He lifted her up a little so that his lips were right next to her ear and he gave her a little kiss before whispering, "Hello, America. I'm your Uncle Maxon. I can't wait for you to come over to my house so that we can play. I have so much to teach you."

And that's when it hit America like a brick wall. Like a freight train. She felt like she'd been punched in the gut with the force of it.

It was a good thing baby Meri had Maxon to teach her, because she certainly wouldn't have any public schools for a while.

"Uh oh." Aspen's voice said. "Those… those don't look like happy tears this time, Mer."

"Oh, God, Ames." Maxon breathed, looking over at her. Then, at Aspen's and Lucy's questioning looks, he said, "We… we had a rough day at work."

"Not another video?" Aspen asked, alarmed.

"No, no, nothing like that." Maxon promised. Then he sighed heavily, "We had to... make a hard decision today. We had to give up on public schools for a while. We had to trade them for… that other project." he met Aspen's eyes and Aspen nodded, understandingly.

Suddenly, the only thing as bad as having her father be disappointed with her was staring her right in the face, blinking its green eyes at her, frowning. "Please," America gasped, "Please don't lecture me. I'm sorry, Aspen, I'm _so __sorry,_ I know I disappointed you—"

"Oh, no, Mer, slow down." Aspen insisted in a soothing tone, pulling a tissue from a box on the bedside table and offering it to her. After she blew her nose, he wrapped her in a tight hug. "I love you, America Schreave. And I'm _so _proud of you. Don't you ever, ever doubt that. I recognize that you are in a constant battle, living in that palace. If it's not New Asia, it's the rebels. If it's not the rebels, it's your own damn advisers at your own damn Council meetings. It's the Twos, it's the former Eights, it's the Northerners, it's the Southerners… Do you know what I want more than _anything_ else for you and Maxon? The one thing you'll never really have. A break. I can't make that happen for you, as much as I would love for you to be able to lay your sword down for just a minute, and rest. I can't give you that, that rest from the fight, but I can promise you that I will _always_ be in that fight with you. I will _always_ have your back, America. If you had to… to trade public schools, that's not your fault. That's the battle. That's the fight. But if I know you, you're already planning to get them back one way or another." He'd clearly done a lot of thinking about the poor way in which he'd reacted to the defunding of America's prenatal clinics, and had learned.

"Five years." America gurgled into Aspen's chest. "I don't have any choice. I have to wait five years."

Aspen shook his head, but he wasn't angry or outraged. He was recalculating, making a soldier's strategy. "Alright, then. Five years, and then we'll go after it again. We won't stop, we won't ever stop, not until we get them. Isn't that right?"

America nodded. "Yeah." she said, softly.

"Hey, Mer?" Aspen grinned.

"Huh?" America looked up to see what he found so funny.

"You know why she's 'America'." he nodded towards the baby girl in Maxon's arms. "Why are _you_ 'America'?"

America looked down at her little namesake, then down at her own hands. "Because I'm a fighter." America said, softly.

"That's _right_, you are." Aspen reminded her, proudly.

Suddenly she was able to see the bigger picture. The way that, in all likelihood, her dad would have seen things all along. Shalom Singer was always good at seeing the big picture, it's what helped him make such beautiful paintings. America, on the other hand, had a hard time making forests from trees, and that's why she was only just now seeing it.

She hadn't 'traded away' public schools that afternoon. She'd just had to move the pieces around on the game board, pull back on public schools to hit the throttle on the amendment. It was part and parcel to a strategy, a big picture strategy that would ultimately lead to funded clinics and public education and princesses inheriting thrones and an end to women being viewed as property to be traded. Jepsen had tried to tell her this in his own slimy way, and Maxon had been in the middle telling her, too, before they'd been interrupted by news of the Leger baby. Everyone had been able to see it but her.

Sometimes she just really needed the boy from the treehouse to remind her of exactly where she was and what she was doing here.

America smiled, tremulously. "Thanks, Aspen."


	24. Chapter 24

Maxon was in an intense military strategy meeting early Wednesday morning, planning the coordinated attack on the rebels. America remembered his smooth lips kissing her forehead on his way out the door well before dawn as she snuggled deeper into the warm, soft blankets. She'd offered to attend the meeting with him, but this was where he wanted her, tucked in her bed, sound asleep and dreaming soft dreams.

Mary was finishing America's makeup for the day when they heard Maxon make it back to the King's suite.

"He made it in time for breakfast." America said, brightly.

"Let's finish getting you ready as quickly as possible, then, so that you can spend a little more time with your husband." Mary smiled, vanishing deep into America's enormous closet.

America slipped off her nightie and slipped on some more appropriate daytime underwear, when Mary reappeared carrying a soft, yellow dress.

"…Ma'am?" Mary said, peering closely at America.

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm not sure… what do you think?" Mary asked, directing America to the mirror at her vanity, and turning her to the side.

America didn't understand until Mary gestured to America's stomach. Yesterday it had been a flat line from her chest to her hips. Today, there was a flat line from her chest to her belly button, and then the smallest of curves jutting outward.

"…I don't know, Mary." America said, thoughtfully. "I get that curve after particularly extravagant Palace feasts, too."

"Why don't we let his Majesty decide?" Mary suggested, with a smile. America could tell that, though she tried to maintain an air of respectful distance, Mary was thrilled at the thought of being in the room the first time Maxon saw a baby bump.

"Good idea." America allowed, with a smile. Maxon could use something cheerful after the rough, early morning he'd had. "Maxon!" America called.

They heard footsteps, and then Maxon's head poked through the doorway looking startled, "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Perfect. Come here and have a look at something for me, would you?" America asked, holding a hand out to him.

Realizing that his wife was not in any immediate danger, Maxon took a moment to straighten himself up, then crossed the room quickly and took her outstretched hand into his own.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Down on the floor, please." America instructed.

"What? Why?" Maxon looked between America and Mary, who could not hide her giggles.

"Because your wife just asked you to do something." America informed him, firmly.

Maxon sighed, "That reason never works when your husband asks _you_ to do something." he complained as he knelt down to the floor. "You always make me…" he trailed off. While he'd been griping, America had turned so that she was now standing in profile before him, and he could clearly see the little curve. Maxon blinked several times, just looking at it, the distance between his nose and her stomach a measure of inches. Finally, he broke into the widest, most joyful, boyish grin she'd ever seen on his face as he looked back up at her, excitedly. "It's here!"

America's hand flew to her mouth as she laughed at this ecstatic response. "Well, not quite. We've still got about six and a half months—"

But he wasn't listening. He interrupted her with excited words punctuated by an endless stream of kisses placed all over her lower belly. "That's—" kiss, "My—" kiss, "Baby—" kiss, "Bump!" kiss.

"I think calling it a 'bump' might be a little premature." America said, running both of her hands through Maxon's golden strands, mussing them up just the way she liked them.

He leaned back, closing his eyes at the feel of her hands through his hair and letting out a contented sigh that sounded like a half-moan. "Thank you, America. For showing me this."

"Seriously, Maxon, I could just be bloated." America grinned. "This is far from a 'baby bump'. This is, at best, a 'baby lump'." She looked down at the almost invisible little blob sticking out from below her bellybutton.

To prove he didn't care, Maxon just assaulted the lump with a series of loud kisses until America stepped back, giggling, and allowed Mary to help her into her dress. Maxon stayed with them until America was finished getting ready, and then they dismissed Mary and he escorted America down to the dining room for breakfast.

Usually, when it was just the two of them, they'd take their breakfasts in one of their suites, relishing the privacy. But sometimes it was nice to go down to the dining room and fill up the cavernous empty space with sounds of 'I love you's and early morning laughter. Maxon had grown up taking breakfast in the dining room with his parents, but never known such lovely sounds were possible until America.

After breakfast, America held a meeting in her office with Gavril and Silvia. They were discussing the televised coverage of the upcoming Grateful Feast parade, as well as beginning to outline the very special edition of the _Report_ during which they'd be announcing the baby in just two weeks time. Gavril was pushing hard for one more public appearance, full of hints about her pregnancy to keep the fires of public curiosity blazing.

"I don't want to push our luck, with the rebel situation being what it is." America said. She and Gavril couldn't really go into more detail in front of Silvia without getting her officially authorized to know about top level national security matters. Though it wouldn't have been too difficult to do because she was on the Queen's Council, Silvia, as one might imagine, had absolutely _no_ interest in being invited to security briefings. She was the Queen's personal assistant and the Palace's resident royal protocol expert, military strategy was not a part of her world and she preferred it that way.

"I understand your hesitancy, your Majesty, perhaps you could consent to a photographed family visit?" Gavril suggested.

"My family is busy, Gavril, they don't live their lives at the Palace's beck and call." America shook her head.

"I have a hard time imagining a world in which Lady May doesn't leap at the chance to help you, your Majesty. And you need all the help you can get." Gavril said, diplomatically.

"What about an information leak?" America suggested. "It wouldn't require any additional appearances on my part, or on Maxon's. It would be easy to arrange, and wouldn't strain the Palace guard's resources like vetting columnists to visit the Palace might."

"What sort of information leak were you thinking?" Gavril asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair. He was finding more and more that he liked working with America on these types of media relations projects. This Queen, in particular, had always had killer instincts about how to use media to sway public opinion, from the moment she got off the plane at the beginning of King Maxon's Selection and spent all of that time greeting citizens at the airport. It was something that came very naturally to her, more so even than Queen Amberly.

"Something simple, but suggestive." America mused. "A kitchen maid could put in extra orders at a bakery in town… say that the Queen has been craving their strawberry tarts to no end." Incidentally, it was true. America had a penchant for all things strawberry at the moment, but strawberry tarts most of all.

Gavril nodded. "Yes, specifically mentioning the word 'craving', I like that. That will definitely raise some eyebrows."

Silvia added, "I could have one of my junior assistants call one of the gossip columnists and tip them off. Suggest they ask the bakery about any recent orders placed for the Queen from the Palace."

"That'll work." Gavril nodded. "I'll get started on that—"

He was interrupted by a loud, familiar, dreadful siren wail.

America felt ice cold fear douse her insides and her stomach clenched. The rebels. Had they learned about the plan to rescue the hostages? Had they found any of the covert operations squads that were encircling them to perform the rescue operation? Maxon had been in meetings from very early that morning to oversee the final preparations for the rescue mission, had something vital piece of information been leaked to the rebels from that meeting?

There wasn't time to worry about this, just as America got to her feet, the doors separating her office from Maxon's swung open. Maxon's face looked tormented. "Ames?"

"Damn it, Maxon." America scowled, dashing quickly over to him. Silvia and Gavril followed quickly behind her. "We connected our offices so that you would go straight down to the safe room, _not_ so that you would have a shorter distance to run as you come over and escort me down to the safe room. I don't need an escort. I know the way." Maxon was locking the doors to the office as America pulled open the panel to reveal the stairwell that led to the main safe room. Silvia and Gavril hurried down at America's insistence, and when he was done securing the doors, Maxon hurried over to her, stopping right in front of her. "Go down!" America insisted, as if he was crazy.

"You first, please." He begged.

Arguing with him was moot at this point, it would always be Maxon's instinct to protect her first. America hurried quickly but carefully down the steps toward the safe room, and was consoled by the comforting sound of Maxon's heavier footfalls right behind her.

When they got down to the room, America was very pleased to see Paige and Esther already there, but looking thoroughly confused. Apparently, they were still waiting on Mary, who would would likely have been farther away from an entrance to the main safe room. "I'll explain everything in just a minute, girls." America said as she passed them.

Silvia and Gavril were standing in the far corner together and America went up to them next. "We can finish our meeting down here, can't we?"

"Of course we can." Silvia said, primly. Of course they could. Silvia wasn't one to let rebels disrupt the Palace schedule. It was her own little way of fighting back.

"Good." America said. "Give me just a few moments and I'll be ready to go." Gavril gave her a tiny bow and Silvia gave her a little curtsey as she turned back to find her husband, looking a little lost, standing right by the entrance.

"Maxon?" America called. He turned to look at her and she held a hand out for him. He stuffed one hand in his pocket and then held the other out, taking hers and allowing her to lead them into an empty corner where they could talk freely without being overheard. Mary finally made it down to the room and the door was closed and locked behind her, just as America and Maxon made it over.

It took a few quiet moments before Maxon had his thoughts organized well enough to share them. America waited patiently, forcing her face into a calm expression. "We didn't think they'd attack the Palace." Maxon finally said, anxiously.

"I can see your reasoning." America said, soothingly. "They were busy abducting innocent civilians and murdering them one by one, and they haven't had the numbers to get in a proper attack on the Palace in years. Honestly, it's a waste of time at this point, we have so many well-trained guards, now that volunteering doesn't mean shipping out to New Asia."

"We don't think they know about the map that our informant turned over, but we can't be sure." Maxon's brow creased into the worried expression that America found so compelling. "Maybe they found out and they're striking before we can strike?"

"Maxon that doesn't make sense." America said, folding her arms tightly. "How would attacking the Palace now stop you from ordering a raid on their camps and freeing the hostages?"

Maxon sighed, frustratedly, and rubbed a hand over his eyes, wrapping his other across his chest. When he was done attacking his own eyeballs, he crossed that arm, too, and he and America stood there, perfect mirrors of one another. "I don't know. I don't know what's going on." Maxon finally said, shaking his head. He was disappointed with himself and America had no doubt that he was hearing Clarkson's voice in his head telling him that he was unfit to rule.

America reached out and placed a hand on his arm gently. "We're safe. And we're about to execute a devastating raid on these rebels, after which our people will be safe, too. Maybe this is a last, desperate attempt on your life?"

Maxon shook his head. "I don't know. Sometimes I don't think they'd kill me, even if they had me right in front of them. These rebels aren't really like the ones from my father's time as King. These men aren't desperate like those were, they're vengeful now. It's almost like they have something specific in mind for me, and sometimes I think that it's worse than death."

America frowned and studied her husband's worried face closely. "That reminds me." She said, in a lecturing tone. God, she was starting to sound like her mother. "When that alarm rings, you are supposed to go straight down to the safe room. You can't come looking for me, you matter more than I do."

"Not anymore." Maxon said, looking up from his crossed arms, his eyes blazing.

"Why not?" America asked, "I might be pregnant, but you're still the King, and that makes you more important-"

"No, it doesn't."

"Maxon, don't fight me on this." America said, firmly.

"I'm not." Maxon said. "I'm informing you."

"Maxon-"

"Ames, I mean it. Legally, you are top priority until that baby is born. That's Illéan law."

America blinked at him, stunned. So he wasn't just being stubborn. "I didn't know that."

"If I die, the country still has a future. If you die, you take this monarchy's whole future with you."

"You... you'd have another baby someday, Maxon." America said, softly.

"There's no guarantee. Particularly with you and me, there's no telling what losing you would do to me." America wanted to argue, but it was hard when she could only imagine what losing him would do to her. "You are top priority until that baby is born." he reiterated. "And if I die, then you become the Queen Regent of Illéa, and you and Stavros teach that baby how to be King or Queen until its coronation at age 20."

"Wait a second." America said, frowning. "Is that something that you and Stavros have actually discussed?"

"Of course." Maxon said.

America didn't like the sound of that at all. "I'm not raising your baby with Stavros. I'm raising it with you. So stop making plans for your death."

Maxon offered her a weak smile and then finally unwrapped his arms, leaning forward and placing a hand on each of her upper-arms. "I know it upsets you, but if the time ever came when you had to rule without me, you'd be grateful that I have it all arranged for you. It's not an act of surrender to my death, it's an act of love for you and that baby." America frowned and huffed and Maxon laughed lightly, finding her adorable. "I'm wildly in love with you." he told her, affectionately.

"I'm mildly in like with you." America replied, petulantly. Maxon was crazy if he thought, even for a heartbeat, that she was going to raise his baby with Stavros, no matter how good a grandfather Stavros was. America shook her head to shake away the notion and then she said, "Since we're trapped down here, I want you to stay with me. No secluding yourself and pacing the floor, wracking your brain to figure out what you did wrong." She knew him so well.

Maxon nodded, looking a little relieved at the invitation. He wouldn't have invited himself to her meeting with Gavril and Silvia, but one benefit of being madly in love with his queen was that she was right there with him during anxious safe room moments like this, and he wanted to take advantage of that.

She led him over to the triangle of chairs that Mary, Paige, and Esther had formed and the girls jumped to their feet on seeing them approach.

"Are you all alright?" America asked, nervously.

"Yes, your Majesty." Mary answered for them. Paige nodded emphatically and Esther couldn't seem to lift her eyes from her shoes but appeared unscathed. This was their first encounter since America promoted Esther to the status of the Queen's ladies maid. Mary had been training her, but Esther wasn't ready to start making forays into the Queen's suite quite yet.

"Good." America said. She felt Maxon's hand on the small of her back and smiled just a little, comforted by the touch. "I'm sure you're all wondering what you're doing here instead of in one of the servant's safe rooms."

This wasn't Mary's first time in the royal safe room though, and she smiled slightly, "We're curious, your Majesty, but not surprised."

America nodded, "Paige, do you remember Anne?"

Paige nodded, just a little. She knew, from her first night at the Palace, that Anne had been the maid that America had sent for when she'd been shot. Their paths had crossed a few times after that, when Anne had gone down to the kitchens to fetch something for then Lady America, and ever since Paige's promotion, Anne was a constant presence in America and Mary's conversations.

America turned to Esther, "Anne was before your time, Esther, but she was my head maid during the Selection. She was very dear to me. To all of us. And she was killed during the rebel attack that stole King Clarkson and Queen Amberly from us." Esther nodded her understanding, solemnly. " Well," America said, addressing all of her maids now, "We received a video from the rebels, and among many other things, it suggested that Anne's death was no accident. That she'd been targeted because she was close to me. The King and I can't really see how that's possible, images of you ladies don't circulate in public. Even if they'd somehow known her name, how could they have identified her?" America sighed, heavily. "But either way, I have formally requested of the guards that you ladies join us down here in the royal safe room from now on. I like to know that you're safe, and soon enough we'll have little princes and princesses down here with us. It would be nice to have some extra help on that front during rebel attacks. Alright?" America asked, checking in with them.

They looked startled and worried by this news, that Anne might have been targeted. Esther was surprisingly the first to recover, "Of course, your Majesty."

America smiled warmly at her, "Thank you." America was about to turn to Gavril and Silvia and head over to continue their meeting when Maxon stayed her with his hands and leant down to her ear. He whispered, he warm breath tickling her skin, "Glance very casually over at Silvia and Gavril, then turn back to me and tell me if I'm hallucinating."

America looked at him, puzzled, and subtly turned her head to look at the corner where Gavril and Sivlia stood, waiting. America's eyes widened in surprise and she couldn't fight the smile spreading across her face as she saw Gavril's hand placed reassuringly on Silvia's arm. They stood much closer together than necessary, talking in rapid, hushed whispers.

America turned her head back to Maxon and nodded, leaning forward to whisper, "I think that's happening, Maxon."

"Wow." Maxon shook his head. "After all these years. They've been seeing each other around the Palace for most of my life." Maxon said in a hushed voice. "What's changed?"

"I don't know." America puzzled. "Maybe it's because I have them working directly together so often, with this amendment?"

Maxon leaned back and looked her in the eyes, smiling in a satisfied way and nodding. That sounded like a good reason to him.

America grinned and seized Maxon's hand, leading him over. When Silvia saw them coming, she leapt back and curtseyed unnecessarily. Maybe she was compensating for the guilt of having some kind of feeling for a coworker. That was probably frowned upon in Palace protocol. No matter the reason, Gavril seemed to find it endearing, and smiled that famous 'Gavril Fadaye' smile down at her.

They were about to dive right back into their meeting when they heard a guard enter the code and open the safe room door. "All clear." he announced, bowing towards Maxon and America.

"Thank you." Maxon said, offering America his arm.

"There's something else, your Majesties, and Mr. Fadaye. A message from Stavros."

"Go ahead." Maxon said, glancing at Gavril curiously. Gavril looked just as puzzled, offering his arm to Silvia, who ignored it.

"He asked me to relay to the both of you that there is an emergency meeting in security room A, and to make certain that her Majesty attends as well. During the attack, there was a rebel hack on the state run television channel frequency. There was a rebel transmission, a video."

"Another hostage?" Maxon asked, pale as a ghost.

"Yes, your Majesty. A publicly televised execution."

America closed her eyes slowly and shook her head, trying to un-hear what she'd just heard. Their careful plans to control the public's reaction to the news of the hostages had just blown up in their faces. What kind of monster did it make her, that America's first thought wasn't for the family of the slain Illéan citizen murdered on public television? What did it say about her, that her first thought was how many public approval points they were about to lose? How much harder the rebels had just made it for her to secure the amendment to the laws of inheritance? She didn't have time for an existential crisis, though. Maxon was already leading the way quickly upstairs to begin dealing with the new situation.


	25. Chapter 25

"It was a diversion." Stavros announced immediately, hardly taking the time to bow at America and Maxon as they appeared in security room A out of breath from the rapid walk up from the safe room. "The attack on the Palace was a diversion. It was just to ensure that we would all be tucked away, unable to stop the frequency hack on the Public Access Channel. No injuries, no fatalities on their side or our side."

"Show me." Maxon ordered, taking a seat facing the large television screen.

"Your Majesty?" Stavros asked America. His tone was reverential, but his face was almost fatherly in its concern.

As badly as America wanted to see exactly what the rebels had done this time, she faltered. She valued her seat at the table next to Maxon more than anything, it was not something that had been afforded to any other Queens in Illéa's history. But the last time, after watching the rebel transmission, she'd had an intense, visceral reaction, no doubt exacerbated by her pregnancy hormones. She'd been physically sick at what she'd seen. She wanted to know what the rebels had done, but she did not want to put undue stress on the baby, like last time.

"You've seen it, Carter?" America asked, turning to Carter Woodwork, who was looking pale and anxious. He was standing in while Aspen was out on paternity leave. This was his first week as head of security, and he looked practically defeated by it.

"I have." Carter nodded, faintly.

"Brief me." America commanded, leading the way back out into the hall. Maxon and Stavros gave her approving glances as they prepared the screen to view the video transmission that all of Illéa had just born witness to.

"Yes, your Majesty." Carter said, following her out. The door closed behind them and America could hear, through the door, the video begin to play. It was the same voice from last time. The rebel narrating what he was doing again, this time addressing the citizens of Illéa instead of just Maxon.

America quickly ducked into security room B, a slightly smaller room that was still much too large for a meeting of just two people.

"Are you alright, Carter?" America asked concernedly, now that it was just the two of them.

"This never should have happened." He shook his head. "Aspen never would have let this happen."

"This is not your fault." America assured him. "You did not attack the Palace, you did not take hostages and execute them on national television. The rebels are at fault, no one else."

"I could have prevented the lockdown from triggering, I know I could have." Carter tried to explain, desperation in his eyes. "They shouldn't have been able to get far enough into the Palace to trigger the alarm. I should have stopped that-"

"Don't beat yourself up about this." America shook her head. "Call Aspen when we're done with this meeting, he'll tell you. I mean, if he's not too busy beating _himself_ up for not being here, he'll tell you." she chuckled. She could just imagine Aspen's horror when he found out about the lockdown. He'd probably seen the rebel transmission and was in full Aspen-Freakout mode that very moment. Possibly with baby Meri in his arms as he paced the floor.

Carter, however, seemed vaguely mollified by this thought. "Right. You're right."

"Marlee and Kile got through the lockdown okay?" America asked.

"They're fine. Kile's getting better about not crying when he hears the siren."

"Good. I like it better when they're in the royal safe room with me, but I know Marlee prefers to dash into whatever is close."

"That's changing, as Kile gets better at walking. It doesn't take as long to get him places now, and he's getting better at stairs. I'll bet they start joining you and Maxon in the main safe room soon." Carter said.

"I hope they do." America said. There was a long, nervous silence. America was almost afraid to hear the details of the transmission, but she did her best to channel her inner-Amberly. "So... the video?" Okay, her inner-Amberly could use some work, that wasn't the most elegant transition in history.

"It was a man this time. A father, husband... same type as the woman from last time. He's... he _was_ a family man who'd been missing for a few weeks. He didn't look ill-treated, except that his hands were bound and he was gagged. He was middle-caste, a Four."

"Name?"

"Barrett Bronson, aged 32. Three daughters at home, and a pregnant wife."

America winced. She didn't know what she would do if she lost Maxon right now. She seriously did not even know where she'd start. She rubbed the little lump below her bellybutton, still invisible beneath her dress, and said, "Did they kill him in the same way they killed that woman, Anne?"

"Yes. A shot to the head. Apparently, they believe in giving these hostage clean deaths, not making them suffer. It's such bizarre logic, Amer... Queen Ameri-"

"Oh, stop." America waved the title away. "It's just us, here."

Carter nodded. "It's bizarre logic, America. They don't blame these people for what happened to the South, but they are punishing them all the same. They're citing reparations for the long suffering of their family members, but they don't want these members of families to suffer."

America shook her head. "It's madness. It's actual, clinical madness."

"No matter the reasoning, we're closing in on them. We're about 36 hours from executing our coordinated attack."

"What else do I need to know about that video?"

"Just that it was broadcast into every building with a television in Illéa, as well as Illéan allies who like to follow the Public Access Channel, all across the world."

"It's the middle of the day, do we really think very many people saw it?" America asked. Most Illéans were at work at this hour. It didn't really solve the international problem, most of their allies had been sitting down to dinner when the frequency had been hacked, but it was the only fleeting hope America could cling to.

"It's hard to say, Mr. Fadaye didn't have anything conclusive to offer as far as ratings. We'll know more about that later. When Stavros asked, Mr. Fadaye _did_ mention that a lot of Threes and Fours work in buildings that leave a television on in the background of their offices for employees to watch on breaks. And, even if they didn't see it live, news of it will spread like wildfire. It might even be partially re-broadcast if the Palace doesn't intervene."

"I suppose that's true." America hung her head, thinking of how weak this made Maxon seem, domestically and internationally. "I really hate this."

"I'd be more concerned if you really liked it." Carter shrugged. It took America a moment to hear the little quip, and longer for the weak smile to reach her lips.

"Should we go back over there?" she asked.

Carter checked his watch. "Another minute. Just to be safe." America sighed, butterflies swarming her stomach, as they waited for the replay of the rebel video to finish. It was a long, silent, heavy minute. Finally, Carter turned and opened the door for her and America walked past him and led them both back into security room A.

When they arrived, Gavril and Stavros were almost at each other's throats.

"If we don't come out now, and I mean _right now_-" Gavril was insisting, heatedly.

"Fine!" Stavros gestured wildly with one hand, the other made a fist and rested on the table he was leaning over. "Go out _right now_, take the King and Queen, put them on television right now and let them reassure the nation-"

"It won't mean anything-"

"But you may not so much as _hint_ that we have the locations of the hostages-"

"It won't mean _anything_," Gavril yelled, "If we can't tell the people some of what we're doing. What am I supposed to have the King say, 'Oh, yeah, we saw that too. That wasn't great, was it?'"

America had never seen Gavril this upset. Likely it was the sting of being outplayed by rebels on his home turf, television.

"Any comment on retaliation could jeopardize the lives of the hostages." Stavros replied, leaning back and folding his arms. He felt he had the moral high ground, and everything in the way he was standing showed it.

"None of this would be happening if you'd let us announce the hostages publicly. We've been sitting on a rebel transmission for a week now, we could have put it out there with our commentary, we could have controlled everything."

"Oh, here it comes. Are you going to say 'I told you so', Fadaye?" Stavros glared.

Gavril ignored him and continued his rant, "But you didn't listen to me, and now, the rebels have_ all_ of the control. And King Maxon looks surprised, confused, and even afraid by not coming right back with quick and decisive action."

"It doesn't matter how I look, Gavril." Maxon said, softly but firmly.

"It matters that the people feel safe with you in control." Gavril returned, lowering his voice when addressing Maxon but keeping all of the depth of feeling. "It matters that they support any action you take in the future."

America stepped forward, announcing her return to the room. "We won't give specifics. We'll say that we saw it, that it was abhorrent, and that the rebels will pay dearly. Which they will. That'll be enough to buy us time, while being obscure enough not to tip off the rebels."

"It would be better to give the people something specific." Gavril insisted, but he wasn't angry anymore. She was like his little media protégé in a lot of ways, America and Gavril always worked well together, and her idea had the benefit of being the strongest option available to them. "It would be better to outline some kind of plan, even in the vaguest terms, to reassure the people—"

"It would _not_ be better for the people who are currently being held captive." Stavros insisted, firmly. It was his job to keep an eye on the big picture, while it was Gavril's job to focus his gaze exclusively on maintaining the monarchy's public image. Therefore, in this instance, they could not possibly see eye to eye.

"Without swift and dramatic retaliation, King Maxon is going to lose major points in his approval ratings." Gavril shook his head. "We could still parlay this into a significant gain by demonstrating the King's decisiveness and force."

Maxon shook his head. "At the cost of the hostages. I won't use their lives as collateral to improve my approval ratings."

"But, sir, the amendment-"

"We'll make it up." America said, soothingly, coming over to place a hand on Maxon's shoulder. It was unsurprisingly tense, but eased slightly at her touch. "We'll make it up, we've got time. Better this happen now than after we announce the baby. People will get the news of a successful raid, and then next week we'll announce the baby. It'll be a double dose of good news. We'll take a beating for the next couple of days while people assume we were caught off-guard and aren't doing anything, but then we'll bounce right back."

Gavril sighed, frowned, and then lowered himself into a chair, relenting. He had a soft spot for America, especially when she happened to be right.

This was enough for Stavros, "I presume we can move on to the next issue, Fadaye?"

Gavril grunted. America almost chuckled at this unnaturally gruff attitude from the usually absurdly affable Gavril Fadaye. She crossed over to the table at the back of the room and poured cups of coffee for Gavril and Maxon, then brought them over. Maxon rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, and Gavril looked like he could have rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, he was so grateful. She gave him a little pat on the shoulder and he perked right up. They were bonded by the fact that they'd both tried to warn Maxon and Stavros that the news of rebel hostages would be worse if the people heard about it from anywhere other than Maxon. And now they had to be here, and be right, and not be able to derive any pleasure from it because their rightness came at such a steep price.

Stavros was on to the next concern on the agenda, "I've got a report from our scouts. There's been no movement at the rebel camps, and nothing at the hostage locations. That's a bit of good news, we still have no reason to believe that they know that we're on to them. We're on schedule to execute the raids, just over 36 hours from now."

Maxon nodded, thoughtfully. "I want a real discussion about how to cut off their funding, Stavros. Now that we have a plan in play for damaging the rebel camps and freeing the hostages, let's turn our new British espionage contingent to figuring out where exactly all of this money is coming from."

"Yes, sir."

"If we need to bump up the aristocracy discussion, let's do it. Whatever it's going to take to pacify those damned loyalist Twos, let's get it done."

"Yes, sir. We can put a discussion on the books for later in the month. Nothing before the baby announcement."

"Fine." Maxon sighed, "Gavril, what's our play here on the video? Do we ban affiliates from airing it?"

"If you try to stop people who haven't seen it from seeing it, it will only ignite a greater desire on their part to watch the whole thing, and it will create resentment for you and the monarchy. They'll feel it an oppressive censorship. The best we can hope for is a sanitized version being rebroadcast, and I can work backchannels to push for that. It won't come from the Palace, it can come from friends of mine at comparatively independent news networks. They can call for self-censorship in the name of decency standards. In that way, the most graphic and provocative part of the video, the shooting, won't be shown again. It'll be discussed widely, of course, but it won't be seen again. Maybe it'll keep that poor man's death from becoming pure televised bloodsport fodder, and keep those little girls from having to watch their father's murder on a continuous loop for the next few news cycles."

"Good. That's what we'll do." Maxon shook his head. It was anything but 'Good', and it was disturbing that such a thing passed for 'Good' because of the truly terrible day they were having.

America sighed. "Gavril, you should call everyone in for the _R__eport_. Maxon and I should get ready. Stavros, write the first draft of the speech Maxon will read today. Gavril will edit it to make the second draft, and Maxon will take the final pass at it."

"Nothing specific, Fadaye." Stavros reminded him, tersely. He still wasn't pleased at the insubordination from earlier.

"Fine." Gavril said to Stavros, then he stood, "I'll see you soon, your Majesties." He bowed, then left the room.

Maxon was looking up at America now, just the faintest flicker of amusement on his face, "Any other commands, America?"

She could have been upset that he hadn't called her 'queen' as he'd teased her about making commands. Only using her first name took away the powers he'd given her when they'd married. If she was just 'America', then she had no business giving commands to royal advisers. If she was his queen, then she had every right. But he'd been through too much that day, he was reeling. And he wasn't mad that she'd just given his advisers commands, it saved him the trouble. She forgave him. "Just one." she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Follow me."

She led them back up to his room, trying to ignore the whispers of shocked servants who'd heard about the video or seen it by now. When they were alone in his room, America studied her husband for a silent moment. Maxon sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped, devastated.

"Maxon-"

"No." he didn't want to be consoled.

"We knew they had more hostages, we knew this was possible."

"We did not know they'd try to broadcast an execution on public television." he argued.

"No. But we knew they'd want the public to know about the hostages eventually. To try to tear you down and frighten everyone into submission."

"He wasn't a soldier." Maxon shook his head. "He survived the draft, he was so lucky, his number never got called. He wasn't a soldier. He was a father. His wife is having another-"

"I know." America said, soothingly, joining him on the edge of the bed.

"He was hoping he'd finally get a boy... to take fishing on the weekends." Maxon's voice broke, and his shoulders shook with a sob.

America's brow furrowed and she encircled his shoulders with her arms, pressing a kiss to his temple. It wasn't often she saw him so vulnerable, he was usually so composed. "You're a good king." she reminded him.

"I'm not!" he insisted.

"Yes, you are." she said, firmly.

"I can't fix this." he shook his head, tears falling heavy from his long, long lashes. "I have nothing to offer them. The family. What could I possibly give them to make this any better?"

"Justice." America reminded him.

"There is no justice!" Maxon shook his head insistently. "What can I take from these rebels that would hurt them equal to the pain of that family? That baby never knowing his father, that father never knowing his son? Those little girls with no one to walk them down the aisle when they get married, that woman with no loving partner to help her raise their children? Who's going to hold her hand when she goes into labor? Who's going to help her with 3 AM feedings and who's going to run to the store in the middle of the night when they accidentally run out of diapers?" he was really fixating on this, and America knew why. He was imagining America as the widow, just like America's first instinct had been to imagine Maxon as the dead man. This man had apparently been the kind of husband and father Maxon wanted to be, the loving, fishing kind, and it was really getting to Maxon that the man had been targeted and killed for being that kind of family man. Maxon gave a shuddering sigh, "The rebels don't have anything I can take from them to make them feel that terrible, all consuming ache." Maxon shook his head. "There is no justice."

"You're going to stop them before they can hurt any more families, though. You're going to save a dozen fathers and mothers still being held captive."

"What would you want?" Maxon asked, collapsing back on his bed.

"What?" America asked, confused.

Maxon sniffed, trying to stop his tears. "What would you want, if it had happened to you? What could the King have offered you, if it had happened to you?"

America curled up against his side, her knees by his shoulder and her elbow by his knees. "If—"

"If the rebels had taken your dad, I mean. I can't imagine, really, because I had a terrible father. But this man, the one who died today, he was a great father. He adored his children and his wife. He sounds like your dad, to me."

America shook her head, unable to properly envision her father being murdered instead of dying of a heart condition. "Nothing. I mean, short of throwing all of the rebels in jail forever-"

"You wouldn't have wanted them dead?" he was surprised.

"No, I don't think so." America shook her head. "Because if they're alive, then every positive thing I do for the rest of my life is an act of defiance. They tried to ruin our family and the country, and they failed. Look at me, I just sold a painting for a bunch of money, I just performed at a party full of famous people, I just got married, had children, and am living a successful, happy life. Your mission failed. If they're dead, then I can't throw my accomplishments in anyone's face. I need them alive to make them sorry."

Maxon frowned. "What if the King had invited you to the Palace, to-"

"No." America shook her head. "That would have made it worse. That would have made me like a spectacle. Just something for other people to stare at and pity. I would have hated the pity."

"Yes, you would have." he acknowledged. "Fine, we'll leave the families to their grief."

"Good idea." America said. "But, Maxon?"

"Hm?" he was pensive.

"If _you_ have grief about losing these people, that's okay, too."

"I do, actually. I'm devastated."

"I can tell. You're allowed to feel that way about it." She leant forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Don't feel like you have to conceal that. This is a devastating thing, you can be devastated by it without intruding on the grief of these families."

"Thanks, Ames."

"I'm going to call in Mary, now. Join us in my room, when you're ready?"

"I will." Maxon promised, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze before letting her go.

America just had time to close the door adjoining her suite with Maxon's, and ring for Mary, when there was a knock at her door.

"Your Majesty?" it was Silvia.

"The schedule has been derailed today, I'm afraid, Silvia." America said, gesturing for her to come in.

"We'll get everything worked out, your Majesty, don't worry." Silvia said. "I came to inform you that you have a phone call from your mother waiting for you in your office. She's concerned about the rebel transmission and wants to know what King Maxon is going to do about it."

"I can't talk to her right now. We're busy." America rolled her eyes, imagining her mother standing in the kitchen of her house, feeling perfectly entitled to demand America's immediate attention, not to mention classified national security details. Silvia cleared her throat, as if reminding America that queens don't roll their eyes, and America relented, "Please inform my mother that I am terribly sorry, but I will have to phone her back sometime after dinner."

Silvia nodded at this much more appropriate response. "Is there anything that you need, your Majesty?"

"No, Silvia. Thank you." A thought occurred to her. "Gavril is going to need some help, though. He's putting together a quick, emergency episode of the_R__eport _right now. Perhaps you could assist him after giving my mother the brush off?"

Silvia blushed, and nodded, eyes falling to her feet. She curtseyed and dismissed herself just as Mary appeared.

"Something black." America said, knowing Mary well enough to anticipate her first question. "We're mourning."

Mary nodded grimly and helped America out of the yellow dress she'd been wearing, then disappeared back into the closet.

Maxon came through, having had a moment to pull himself together, and when he spotted America standing there without a dress on he came over to study the baby lump some more. "I think it's grown since this morning."

America smiled, "No, it hasn't."

"Just a little." he winked, and went over to sit on her bed. America took her place at her vanity and began cleaning the day makeup off of her face. Her makeup for the studio was different, made for bright lights and cameras.

Mary reappeared and laid a long, flowing black dress on the bed next to Maxon before joining America and unpinning her hair.

"Ames?" Maxon said, tense and anxious.

"What?"

"What is this?" he asked, holding out a small, white envelope for her to see.

"I don't know. Where did it come from?"

"Your bed." He said.

America stood and hurried over to him, taking the blank envelope from his hands, a terrible feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach.

There was a note inside.

America sank down next to Maxon and pulled it out of the envelope, holding it down for both of them to see.

The neat handwriting belied a horrifying message.

'_King Maxon,_

_If __I see your wife, I will kill her. I won't take her hostage, you have nothing we want or __need. If __I see your wife, I'll just kill her. Yours sincerely, K__.__'_

Maxon reached over and seized America's free hand, clutching it tightly as they read and reread the note. For the first time since she'd known him, he was trembling.


	26. Chapter 26

The next two days, leading up to the raid on the rebels, were amongst the longest America had ever known in the Palace. She couldn't remember being as distressed within these walls since _the _rebel attack that had almost stolen Maxon from her. The phone in her office rang constantly with reporters hoping for a quick quote, but Gavril had instituted a media blackout as soon as Maxon had finished his speech condemning the actions of the rebels. No one from the Palace was permitted to say a word about anything to anyone, not until those hostages were safe and those rebel camps were flattened.

None of the Illéan columnists felt brave enough to criticize Maxon's handling of the situation outright, but they were very passive-aggressive and snarky about the Palace's media blackout. They suggested that Maxon, being such a young king, was making many mistakes out of inexperience and those mistakes were costing citizens their lives. After reading the third such column, America tearfully begged Gavril to lift the blackout just long enough to reassure the country of Maxon's worthiness to rule.

"One more day, your Majesty. Just one more day, and they'll know everything." Gavril had reassured her soothingly, offering her a cookie from a tin on his desk. She was hardly placated by this response, but the ginger spice cookie really did make her feel better, and she resolved to pay more attention to keeping her blood sugar stable in future. Low blood sugar and a pregnant Queen did not mix well.

In addition to being unable to manage their plummeting approval ratings, the impossibility of getting any substantial work done in a Palace that could not communicate to the outside world, and the tension brought on by knowing that if the rebel raid went wrong, it would take years for the monarchy to recover in the eyes of the people, these rebels were also taking a toll on America's personal life.

The number of guards on the third floor of the Palace was doubled for the foreseeable future, and so any illusion of privacy was destroyed. If Maxon's constant anxiety about losing America had been bad before, in the back of his mind, it now constantly occupied _all _of his mind. He agonized over that note, which he now kept in his right pocket. His left pocket was reserved for the most recent ultrasound image of their baby. These were his duel obsessions.

America and Silvia tried to coordinate the schedule so that, for the few days after the frequency hacking, America was always a stones throw from Maxon. He seemed to appreciate this, at least once an hour he'd poke his head into whatever room America was in. He wouldn't say anything, he just wanted to see her and see that she was still fine. After a while, they all stopped acknowledging these little interruptions. He'd just look in, study America for a moment, give her a nod, and then leave again. He was a wreck.

And that wreck was not confined to daylight hours. When he finally managed to sleep, Maxon would wake up, tossing, turning, and calling out America's name at least once a night. America had no idea how to help him. She honestly was not afraid of what this 'K' from the note might do to her, she was much more afraid of what this 'K' was currently doing to her husband.

And this panicked worry was not confined to Maxon. Aspen voluntarily returned from paternity leave early when Maxon told him about the threat on America's life. Aspen had been Maxon's first call after recovering from the shock of the note, and if the situation had been different, America would have found this demonstration of Maxon's and Aspen's close relationship adorable.

Aspen returned to the Palace early the morning after the attack, and conducted a thorough inspection of America's room, which America was not allowed into anymore. Maxon kept her in his room when they were on the third floor, as if the room next door to the room that had been infiltrated would really be any safer.

Aspen concluded that nothing was taken from America's room when the rebels left the note, nothing was destroyed, nothing was even disturbed from its usual place. All they had done was leave the note. Apparently, what the note had said was very true, they didn't want anything. If they'd wanted anything, they could have taken it. All they wanted from Maxon was to kill his Queen and, unbeknownst to them, his little heir. And also to scare the King out of his mind with the threat of killing America, which, incidentally, was working.

Aspen, Maxon, and Gavril had a long meeting right after Aspen concluded his investigation, a meeting to which America was invited as a cursory gesture of politeness and not to interject any actual opinions. It was determined, amongst these three zealous protectors, that all of America's scheduled public appearances would be canceled for the foreseeable future. Maxon knew they'd have to let America out of the Palace someday, but it wasn't going to be anytime soon. America would have argued for a more measured reaction to the note, but it was still all she could do to keep Maxon from making her sleep in a safe room. She decided to pick her battles until this blew over.

So it had been a long couple of days to say the least. In the wee hours of Friday morning, the raids on the rebel camps were simultaneously executed, but the Palace wouldn't know the complete measure of success until Friday night. They were in a limbo all day, which was doing nothing to ease anyone's nerves.

America had a light schedule on Friday, prescribed for her by Silvia, who was not pleased by the dark circles under America's eyes. It was important that Queens maintain an appearance of composure, and part of that required the Queen to remain healthy. Or, that was what Silvia said, rather than admit how much she'd come to care for America in their years working closely together.

Maxon, however, had a packed schedule, with news of recovered hostages and decimated rebel camps trickling in throughout the day and requiring his attention. So America, Silvia, Marlee, and Kile spent the morning in the Women's Room discussing the Grateful Feast parade and making plans for the next work week, leading up to the big baby announcement. It was Silvia's favorite tactic for fighting back against the rebels, going on with business as usual, and America had to admit, it helped.

America had given Maxon permission to enter the Women's room as soon as he had a break in his meetings so that they could go to their ten week ultrasound appointment together. It was the first slice of nice and normal they'd had in days, and they were coveting it.

There was a gentle summer thunderstorm that morning, and it made America and Kile very sleepy. So Marlee and Silvia kept up their casual planning for the next week in one corner of the room and insisted that America and Kile take a nap together on the other side of the room, in the enormous overstuffed red armchair facing a large window where rivulets of water snaked down in the most entrancing way.

Kile nestled perfectly into the crook of America's arm, his lips pouted out where his cheek pressed against her chest. America drifted off the the sounds of his little steady breaths mixing together with the sounds of the rain on the windows and Marlee and Silvia's hushed chatter on the other side of the room to create the most soothing lullaby.

She woke up to Maxon's warm brown eyes at a level with her own sleepy blue eyes, amusement all over his face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"No." she mumbled, cuddling closer to Kile.

"Don't you want to go and hear our baby's heartbeat for the first time?" Maxon reminded her. Now that she was in her tenth week, the heartbeat was officially loud enough to hear on the machine. This had been _the_ thing that had gotten them through this week.

"Yes." America replied softly, inhaling the smell of Kile's hair, deeply. Whatever baby shampoo Marlee and Carter used on him had the most alluring scent.

"So you should get ready to go, shouldn't you?" Maxon knelt down so that he wouldn't have to remain bent over as he negotiated the end of nap time with his wife.

"Mmm... no." America yawned and closed her eyes, warm and cozy exactly where she was.

"You prefer to keep Dr. Ashlar waiting?"

"Yes."

"That's a bit impolite, isn't it?"

"...No."

"Because you're the Queen?"

"Exactly." America sighed, the grogginess slowly wearing off the longer Maxon talked with her. She peeked an eye open, "And I have this little person weighing me down." she gave Kile, who was letting out the sweetest little toddler snores, a tiny squeeze.

Maxon smiled tiredly, "I can help you with that." He stood and gently gathered Kile into his arms. Kile wiggled a bit but did not awaken, shifting his head to rest on Maxon's shoulder and his little fist to clutch at Maxon's tie.

America was immediately cold, at the loss of this important little source of warmth. "No…" America sighed, and wiggled a little in the chair to try to find a position as warm and comfortable as she'd been with Kile. "You kidnapper." America complained, but then finally accepted the hand Maxon was offering her, pulling herself up to stand.

One bleary-eyed glance across the room and it was clear that Marlee was grinning wildly at them.

"Time to go?" Marlee asked softly, as Maxon led America over to Silvia and Marlee's side of the room.

"Yes." Maxon said, enthusiastically.

"We can't wait to see the picture." Marlee smiled, opening her arms to accept her snoozing son. Maxon delicately laid Kile in his mother's arms, but it took an extra moment to pry those little toddler fingers from his tie.

"I'll make sure to show you tomorrow, Marlee." America said, eyes trained on her husband as he fussed over Kile.

Maxon broke free of Kile's grasp and straightened up, wrapping an arm around America and bidding the others a final farewell.

They didn't say a word until they found themselves in an empty corridor.

"I'll be glad when we don't have to sneak around about this baby anymore." America said, softly. "I want to start putting together a nursery and collecting baby clothes."

Maxon smiled down at her, but it was a strained smile. "I know. But forgive me if I enjoy these last few days of obscurity. Once those rebels know that you're pregnant, it's only going to get worse."

"They won't have much left to attack us with, after today." America tried to reassure him. America had hoped that, with the so far seemingly successful execution of the raids on the rebel camps, Maxon might relax a little. But up 'til now, these raids seemed to be having the opposite effect. Maxon seemed to feel that freeing the rest of the hostages and returning them to their families, whilst simultaneously destroying several large rebel bases, had done nothing but taunt 'K'.

Maxon paused in the hallway and pressed a firm kiss to America's forehead. "I love you." he said, simply.

"I know, Maxon." America assured him. She didn't know what to say to make him feel better. "After the appointment, let's go take a nap, okay?"

"Weren't you just sleeping?" Maxon asked, amused.

"I can't seem to get enough, right now." America shrugged, taking his hand. "Kenna said she was the same way when she was expecting Astra. I'll probably get some of my energy back in a few weeks, the second trimester is supposed to be easier."

"Do you miss talking to Kenna?" Maxon asked, frowning, as they continued walking. He felt guilty that America was cut off from talking to her family until the raids were over.

"I'll be able to call her again tomorrow." America assured him. "I'm fine, I promise."

"I know, you're being very strong. I just… I think we should maybe talk about moving your family into the Palace for a little while, once we announce the baby."

"I don't want to uproot them again—"

"I know. I'm not making a decision, I just want to discuss it. If something happened to them—"

America shuddered, "Okay. We'll discuss it." she promised. "But let's get through today, first."

Maxon nodded, clearly thoughtful about something. "I'll have an assistant come and get me if anything is urgent. Otherwise, I'll let Stavros handle things until after dinner. We'll have that nap."

America smiled up at him, "Maxon, _thank you_." She knew it wasn't easy for him to carve time out for her on a day like today.

"This was part of the deal, as I recall." Maxon smiled, clearly inflating under her adoring gaze. "I'm here for you."

"Yes, you are." she agreed, happily. Just the prospect of curling up under the covers with Maxon was enough to put a spring in her step. Maybe, if it was just a nap, Maxon wouldn't have nightmares this time. This could be really good for both of them.

Dr. Ashlar was waiting for them in the examination room with the sonogram machine in it. One of his assistants showed them in and while Maxon and Dr. Ashlar chatted amiably, America changed out of her day dress into a spare outfit Paige had left for her in the hospital wing that morning. It was just one of Maxon's white t-shirts and a pair of his cotton shorts, but wearing them soothed her. She usually got nervous when she was getting ultrasounds done, as a hundred different anxieties flitted through her mind in the moments leading up to the time when she actually got to see her baby again, and see that it was, in fact, still healthy. Wearing Maxon's clothes helped ground her, and allowed Dr. Ashlar much easier access to her little curved belly.

Dr. Ashlar started with a physical examination, asking America how she'd been feeling and drawing a little bit of blood for a quick panel. As the machine analyzing her blood began to whir and grind, Dr. Ashlar praised America's weight gain for the week, telling her that she was well within the very healthy range. He measured her, and gloated over her little baby lump, warning to look out for what he called a 'pop' in the next week or so, that this was a warning of much more growth to come, as she entered her second trimester. Maxon seemed especially pleased at the prospect of a rapidly growing baby bump.

Finally Dr. Ashlar had America lay back on the examination bed and roll her shirt up, and a swarm of butterflies seized her stomach. She knew, in her mind, that the baby was fine. Every week she had an examination like this, and while she didn't always get an ultrasound, the news was always very good. This was a healthy bun in her oven, and she knew it, but a worst case scenario always played through her mind in the seconds before the sonogram machine turned on and the irrefutable evidence of her baby's health was right before her eyes.

Maxon picked up on this trepidation, seemingly reading her mind, and he leant down and gave her a firm forehead kiss. "What's the worst that could happen? It could have gills?" Maxon joked.

America smiled weakly and played along as Dr. Ashlar finished setting the machine up. "Illéa would have its first half-fish monarch."

"We should put something in the laws to allow for fish Kings and Queens."

"Agreed." America nodded, and Dr. Ashlar fought off a chuckle as he pressed the wand to America's jellied belly.

"Well, there the baby is." Dr. Ashlar said, nodding to the screen with the image displayed on it.

What once had been an interesting amorphous blob had grown into a clearly person-shaped blob. This was the first week they could make out identifiable features.

"I see a nose!" Maxon exclaimed, joyously, examining his child's profile for the first time. "And arms!" There were, indeed, little elongated nubs where arms and legs would go.

"That's a Schreave chin if ever I've seen one." America smiled.

Dr. Ashlar interjected, "And a very well-developed cranium, Majesties, for its age. We're going to have quite the smarty on our hands." he was beaming almost as widely as Maxon.

"I see the heart." America sniffled. Her eyes were misting over, but she blinked the tears back fiercely. She didn't want them to get in the way of her vision.

There was a glowing, blinking white spec in the baby's body, clearly a heart.

"Are you ready to hear it, Queen America?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

America gulped, "_Yes._"

She was bracing herself for the sound, but still felt taken aback when the machine began emitting audio.

At first, all America could make out was white noise from the machine. She furrowed her brow and strained to listen, and Maxon did the same. Then, after a moment, a small, steady thumping sound became obvious. America watched Maxon's face closely, once she'd detected the heartbeat, and her attention was rewarded when she saw the very moment he recognized their baby's heartbeat.

"Ames—" he choked, his own eyes growing misty.

"I know." America grinned.

"That's our baby!" Maxon exclaimed, seizing her hand and leaning down to kiss her quickly.

"Wow." America leaned her head back and breathed, just taking in the steady, reassuring sound.

"That's a good, strong heartbeat." Dr. Ashlar bragged. "I'm hearing 150 beats per minute, and the normal range is 145-165, so that is totally within the green zone."

They made Dr. Ashlar sit there for five whole minutes, listening to that heartbeat and staring at the image of their rapidly developing baby. They finally tore themselves away after some gentle prodding from Dr. Ashlar, who needed to get on with his work for the day.

Maxon made America partake in their afternoon nap topless, and he laid there on the bed with his ear pressed to her bare belly, straining to listen.

"It's still too small." He finally gave up. "I can't hear it."

"It's plum sized." America grinned, remembering what Dr. Ashlar had told them. "Can you imagine?"

Maxon smiled, then rolled off of her stomach, "I want it to get bigger right now!" he complained.

"You are a petulant boy of a king today, aren't you?" America smiled.

"I'm just excited." Maxon grinned, sheepishly, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts seemed to take a turn and he leant up, looking over at America. "Ames, you know I'll never let anything bad happen to you, don't you?"

"That's one hell of a promise, Maxon, but I don't know that you can keep it." America said, pointedly.

"Fine. Bad things will happen—"

"That's right they will, and if you waste all of your time and energy trying to beat away every bad thing that crosses our path, you're going to be too distracted to appreciate the good things."

"My wise queen." Maxon nodded, then tried again. "Bad things will happen sometimes, but I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I know." America said, reaching out and tugging him up so that he'd be eye level with her in the bed. "You let your father cane you for fear that, if you didn't, he might lash me instead. You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Maxon, you almost died."

"And yet, on seeing you walk into my room, all but unscathed, suddenly my bullet wound felt like nothing at all, a minor irritation." Maxon said, a far-off look in his eyes, as he remembered.

"I'm not scared, Maxon." America assured him. "I'm not scared of that note."

"I know. Maybe you should be."

"Well, I'm not. I don't think much of these rebels."

Maxon smiled, "No, you never have. But maybe you should start."

"Maxon—"

"They got in and out of your room and no one stopped them, Ames." Maxon implored.

"But they weren't exactly undetected, were they?"

"We don't know that they couldn't have been. They were trying to be detected, remember? It was all a big diversion." Maxon frowned and wrapped an arm around America, pressing his forehead to her ear and burying his nose in the crook of her neck.

America took her time responding. "Aspen's working on it." she finally said, definitively. "Nothing gets past Aspen."

"Well, I'd hate for your death to be the first thing. It would destroy this palace, America."

"No, it wouldn't—"

"Aspen would never recover. _I certainly _would never recover. Poor Silvia would suffer a nervous breakdown, she's grown to adore you. Marlee and Carter would be devastated, Gavril would never be the same, and how about the number you've done on Stavros? What about Mary, Paige, and that new girl? What about the pall it would cast over Italy as Nicoletta processed your loss? It would be a global tragedy, Ames."

"I think you're being a little dramatic, Maxon—" she didn't believe the words, but they were all she had to try to help him feel better.

"I'm not." he sighed. "But it doesn't matter. Because I won't ever let anyone hurt you. Or the baby."

"And all of the people you just listed, Nic and Stavros, Gavril and Silvia and Marlee and Carter… none of them will let anything hurt me, either. Aspen would lay down his life for me, in a heartbeat, and that really concerns me, you know, with Lucy and Meri and everything."

"Yeah." Maxon nodded, and it was clear from his tone that he was very pleased with the level of Aspen's devotion.

America smiled and turned her head so that their noses were touching. "Remember that wall we saw in New Asia after we signed the peace treaty? The really big one?"

"Of course."

"That's what I have around me, because of all of those people you listed and their devotion to me and to this baby. That's what the baby and I have all around us, a great big wall. We're safe."

"Mhmm." The metaphor seemed to sooth him. At any rate, his hold on her was loosened and his breathing was becoming steady again. "Do you know what would help that ancient asian wall of yours even more?"

"Hm?"

"Adding some more people to it."

"More guards?" America winced.

"Your family." Maxon said.

America sighed. "You think that they'd be safer here with all of our guards?"

"And we'd all be safer, because they'd be bringing their guards with them." Maxon added, nodding.

"But… Maxon." America whined. "My mother—"

"It wouldn't be forever. Just until this 'K' person is apprehended or killed." he said, soothingly.

"A lot more dangerous stuff happens at this palace than at their house, you know."

"It doesn't take 'a lot' of dangerous stuff to happen, Ames, it only takes one. One dangerous thing that breaks through the barriers. I refuse to see the day a rebel takes your little sister from you, America. I won't have it, not on my watch."

America closed her eyes, trying to shut out the mental image of May being attacked by a rebel. Of what happened to Lucy happening to May, but worse… "Okay." America relented. "Fine."

Maxon smiled a little, but it wasn't light or carefree. He'd played the sister-card, and it had gotten him what he'd been after, but this was no burden off of his shoulders. "I'll call them tonight, once Gavril lifts the blackout. I'll spare you that particular conversation with your mother."

America pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

"Are you worried about Kota?" Maxon asked.

"No." America said, shortly.

"Then neither am I."

'Kota'. It had been a while since anyone had brought him up. The name was almost foreign to their ears.

"How soon do you plan on asking them to be here?" America asked, forcing away the specter of her estranged brother.

"Sunday, I'd thought?"

"Sunday." America said, tasting the word. "Okay."

"It'll be nice to have Gerad and May around." Maxon smiled, and it was finally a real, true, happy smile.

"And Kenna and Astra. Kile will be so excited that his playmate is coming to stay."

Maxon sighed, "Finally, a silver lining to this dark, rebel-laden cloud, then."

America wasn't sure just how silver this lining was, but she'd take any win she could get at that point. The idea of her family coming to the Palace to stay safe, but also to put another layer of human shields up between America and the rebels, was unsettling. Even with the rain pattering on the window and Maxon's steady warm breath on her neck, it was hard for America to settle into her nap with the weight of what was at stake pressing so heavily on her mind. She could lose so much more than the amendment, if the rebels had their way. In fact, if the rebels had their way, she could lose _everything_.


End file.
